


What the Righteous Man Saved

by rea_of_sunshine



Series: Cas, the Righteous Man [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Additional Warnings Apply, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Human, Anal Sex, Anna's Back, Big Brother Dean, Big Brother Gabriel, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Brainwashed Castiel, Cas Will Always Love Dean, Castiel & Charlie Bradbury Friendship, Castiel Has a Dog, Charlie Lives, Charlie Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Ships It, Child Abuse, Dead John Winchester, Dean Being an Idiot, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, F/F, F/M, Forever, Forgiveness, Homophobia, Hurt Dean Winchester, I'm so sorry, Jess Dies, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Lilith is Still a Bitch, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Minor Character Death, Naomi is Still a Bitch, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Abuse, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Protective Dean, Protective Gabriel, Publisher Charlie Bradbury, Self-Denial, Self-Worth Issues, Smartass Anna, Smartass Miltons, Still, Suicide mention, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Teacher Castiel, Terminal Illnesses, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Topping from the Bottom, Writer Castiel, anyway, april kelly is a rapist, castiel's mom is an asshole, my baby, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rea_of_sunshine/pseuds/rea_of_sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>     With the years since he left, Cas has started to see himself as a statue, rigid and permanent, forever the person he was when he walked out of that clinic. But then there is Dean, who never <em>really</em> left, and nothing makes sense. </p><p>          The images start to come at him faster and faster, a new one with each slam of his heart. <em>Da-dunk!</em> Dean is laughing. <em>Da-dunk!</em> Dean is balancing on a log. <em>Da-dunk!</em> Dean is tying his shoes. <em>Da-dunk!</em> Dean is looking at him. <em>Da-dunk!</em> Dean is kissing him. Dean is touching him. Dean is hugging him, yelling at him, winking at him, smiling at him, sleeping beside him, laughing, singing, eating breathing existing. Dean, Dean, Dean, <em>Dean.</em> And something in Cas melts. He’s crying. He can’t breathe. The whole world is blurry, except for those green eyes. Those are the only things clear to him in the entire universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

### Year One Without Dean:

     The world around Castiel is fresh, full of endless possibilities. The first year without Dean is a new house all his own, a new dog, a new school, constant joy. He begins checking off boxes on his to-do list for adulthood. High school, college, job. The air around him is always crisp and always refreshing. He learns to bake. 


	2. Chapter 2

### Year Two Without Dean:

     It is much the same as Year One, in reality. His life is clean, uncomplicated, and he is happy. He goes to church every Sunday, walks his dog every morning, and grabs lunch in his university’s cafeteria. He changes his shampoo to green apple because he likes the small kick of the scent and starts writing a memoir of his journey away from homosexuality. He hopes it will be inspiring to others going through the same battle. 

     He doesn’t realize it’s the first thing he’s written since the play that started it all.


	3. Chapter 3

### Year Three Without Dean:

     He falls into an easy routine. He walks the dog and gets a student job at the college. He writes his memoir. He is happy, and he has met someone. Her name is Hannah. They easily co-exist. There are no problems, no worries. They are happy. He is happy.


	4. Chapter 4

### Year Four Without Dean:

     He realizes that he should stop correlating the years that pass with Dean. Dean is elsewhere, hopefully happy with a nice woman. Castiel wants that for Dean. He really does. 

     He decides to start calling the years, as well as the title of his memoir, “Years Since the Truth Was Learned,” the truth being that homosexuality is wrong, and that _it_ was the reason he was so unhappy. He smiles as he makes a note of the title.


	5. Chapter 5

### Year Five Since the Truth Was Learned, or formerly, Year Five Without Dean:

     He and Hannah break up. They had become a relationship built upon the fact that it was safe, that they were both comfortable. There were no emotions, so even though the relationship went on for two years, Castiel parts from her with a mere handshake and does not regret it for a moment. He finishes the memoir, and a few months later, he gets an invitation to Hannah and a man named Joe's wedding. He smiles his way through the ceremony, happy and content.


	6. Chapter 6

### Year Six Since the Truth Was Learned:

     Castiel sends his story to several publishing companies. He hears nothing but no’s back. He buys a new rug for his living room. He thinks it makes the place look warmer. His mother comes by often, even though he has moved nearly two hours away from Sceadan Street. They don’t talk much, just sit in the familiarity of each other’s silence.


	7. Chapter 7

### Year Seven Since the Truth Was Learned:

     He has become a successful professor at the local college. He has a house and a dog and he is happy.


	8. Chapter 8

###  ~~Year Eight Without Dean~~ Year Eight Since the Truth Was Learned:

     Castiel has a dream of Dean, and he awakes startled by the laughter in those eyes. It has been years since he has dreamed of Dean, years and years filled with happy memories, and here he is, awaking startled and confused. 

     He takes a shower, takes his dog for a walk, and takes the long way to work, all the while trying to shake the ghost of Dean Winchester.

     The next night, he has the same dream, so he calls up Naomi, and they talk for a long while. She tells him he probably misses the best friend Dean was to him, that it would be helpful for him to arrange a meeting for him and Dean to catch up, so he can further spread the truths he learned from clinic. He thanks her, hangs up, and thinks that perhaps he will call Dean, but he goes to bed night after night without ever following through on the thought.

     The dream haunts him sometimes.


	9. Chapter 9

### Year Nine Since the Truth Was Learned:

     He is happy. 

     He is content. 

     He is okay. 

     He is happy. 

     He is content. 

     He is okay.


	10. Chapter 10

### Year Ten Without Dean _Fucking_ Winchester:

      He is not _okay._

      He is not _content._

      He is not _happy._

      Everything he has worked for, everything he has fought for, everything he has built the last ten years of his life on, is crumbling down around him. He is falling apart.

     Dean _Fucking_ Winchester.


	11. Chapter 11

### Chapter Eleven, or Three Days Before _Him_

      The day starts normal. It starts as Steve the Dog—often referred to as such—barking Castiel awake as the coffee pot spews its last drop. It starts as coffee and their morning run and grabbing the mail on the way inside. It starts as a warm shower before sitting down to breakfast and skimming over today’s newspaper. It starts as the crossword, the weather, the finances, and it ends with the letter stuck between the comics and the classifieds. His whole goddamned world ends with that letter. 

      It is from a publishing company, one with a mystical and complex logo that Castiel did not remember submitting to. It’s entirely possible though, that among the dozens of companies his book got sent to, he forgot the logo of one of them. Castiel didn’t know that the letter would ruin his life. No. How could he have? It was a thick letter; he thought it might be his first yes. That being said, he sets his coffee aside and tears into the letter eagerly. 

      _Dear Cas,_ it reads, and that alone throws him for a loop. He hasn’t gone by Cas since…well...a long time. _How have you been, my old friend? It’s been, what, ten years?_ Castiel’s heart speeds, his entire body turning to stone aside from the bursts of heat running into his limbs. He’s terrified, and the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders...is this letter from…Dean?

      A burst of something dark rushes through him, but Castiel silences it quickly. He does not want to be disgusted by Dean; he has worked hard to push Dean from his thoughts altogether. Even so, when he skips to the bottom of the letter—desperate to see the signature waiting there—and reads, _Charlie Bradbury,_ he is left feeling cold and empty. He draws in a shaky breath and starts over.

      _Dear Cas,_

      _How have you been, my old friend? It’s been, what, ten years? Let me be the first to assure you I haven’t changed at all. Gilda and I are still together, believe it or not, and we have set a wedding date. You’ll be receiving your invitation in the mail now that I’ve found your address._

      _Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I _would_ find you. You are definitely one hard sucker to track down, but you know me, Queen of Moons, master of all things technological and nerdy. So yeah, I found you. Wow, that sounded creepy. I swear I wasn’t stalking you. I just wanted to catch up, but I’ll admit I do have an ulterior motive for this letter. Don’t get me wrong, I do want to catch up. I haven’t heard from you since I left the clinic. (I want to hear all about your and Dean’s big reuniting scene, by the way. I hope there was cray amounts of reunion sex!)_

      _Anyway, as I said, there is a professional aspect to this. As you can see by the envelope, I have opened my own publishing company! Yay! It was a struggle, for sure, but we’re finally getting up and running. We’re stretching out our contacts and influences and our latest addition is steadily rising up the charts towards being a number one best-seller._

      _Don’t worry. I’m not spilling this shameless self-promotion to ask for money. However, I do have a request of you. See, I was bebopping along one day on my favorite LGBT+ website’s media page. I had gone through their archives back to the days when newspapers were still relevant, like eleven years back, and I see this headline: “Local Boy Writes Heart-Wrenching Play for LGBT Community.” Before the company, I probably would not have looked twice at the article. As it were, I did. Granted, I was only skimming, flipping through absently, but my attention kept getting stuck on words like “devastating,” “heart-breaking,” “beautifully rendered,” “provoking,” and that pretty much piqued my curiosity. What was I to do but watch the play on YouTube? (Sorry. Copy right infringement, I know.)_

      _So I click the link, start the video, and imagine my surprise when the curtains part and standing under the spotlight is my old friend Cas. I thought, "Holy crap! My friend Cas is the lead in this play!" And so I watched with double the verve, falling in love with the characters, falling in love with the care the writer had infused into every single word. (Not to mention the leads were two dreamy boys and the story was promoting same-sex couples. Granted, it didn’t end happily for them, but still.)_

      _So yeah. I loved the play. It destroyed me, and I wanted to relive it every hour of every day. I sat through the entire beginning of curtain call listening to the names of all the actors, long-awaiting the name of the writer. Then the lead’s love interest came out, and they called his name, and it hit me all at once that I had just witnessed the beginning of your relationship with Dean. I mean, you told me all the stories, but I never knew it would feel like that, even just watching._

      _You never came out for your recognition, but I’ve heard the stories, so I know why. The only thing I wasn’t expecting was your name to be called as actor, director, and writer. I wasn’t expecting the play I had just spent two hours pouring over to have been written by one of my very best friends! I won’t ask why you didn’t tell me, (why didn’t you tell me, you little snot!) however, I will ask, beg, plead, that you let me buy the rights to your beautiful play and publish it. _

      _I can get you in a theater in every major city across the south west in two years’ time. Everyone will see the play that brought you and Dean together. They will see the characters you poured your soul into, and everyone around will want your autograph. Just think about it, Cas._

      _As your friend, I want you to make the decision that will make you happier, but as someone who is wanting to buy your play, let me assure you that I can make you happy. Okay. That is the end of my sounding like a sleazy telemarketer._

      _I hope you’re well, Cas. I hope you have every happiness that you’ve ever wanted. Give me a call, okay? You have my number._

      _Love always, Charlie Bradbury._

      Castiel holds the letter in his hands for a while. He stares at the words printed onto the page, the round signature scratched at the bottom. Something is bubbling up inside Castiel, building faster than he could ever hope to squash it. It grows larger and larger until it’s there, pushing against him with the force of a hurricane. He sees it from the beginning, all of it. 

      He sees that very first day, how he was standing across the playground with Crowley, listening to them laugh at the crying boy under the tree. Cas didn’t think it was funny. Not in the least. So instead of laughing along, he left the circle and went to the boy. 

      He sees the next day, being asleep in his bumble bee sheets and those tiny knuckles knocking him awake. He had been scared at first. He thought it might have been a monster. But he was brave; Castiel always has to be brave. He walked to the window and standing in the light falling from his room was Dean, tear-streaked, dirty-nailed, Dean. He pulled the window open. He didn’t lock his window after that for thirteen years. 

      Second grade flashes before him, third, fourth, and fifth. He sees them all. He was there. He remembers. He sees the laughter. He sees the tears. He sees the pranks and the homework and the birthday parties and the friends that never lasted as long as Dean and Cas did. No one lasted as long as Dean and Cas did, but even they fell apart in the end.

      Then he sees that night. The first one, the beginning of it all, and the end. They were doomed from the start. Every laughter was slated to be followed by heartbreak. Every kiss was destined to be torn apart. They were never going to make it, and somewhere deep inside, they knew that, but it never stopped them. Their lips still crashed together on that first night. They still made the arrangement. They still failed and became more. They were still that whirlwind storm that was so consuming and overwhelming and disastrous. 

      With the years since Cas left, he has started to see himself as a statue, rigid and permanent, forever the person he was when he walked out of that clinic. But then there is Dean, who never _really_ left, and nothing makes sense. 

      The images start to come at him faster and faster, a new one with each slam of his heart. _Da-dunk!_ Dean is laughing. _Da-dunk!_ Dean is balancing on a log. _Da-dunk!_ Dean is tying his shoes. _Da-dunk!_ Dean is looking at him. _Da-dunk!_ Dean is kissing him. Dean is touching him. Dean is hugging him, yelling at him, winking at him, smiling at him, sleeping beside him, laughing, singing, eating breathing existing. Dean, Dean, Dean, _Dean._ And something in Cas melts. He’s crying. He can’t breathe. The whole world is blurry, except for those green eyes. Those are the only things clear to him in the entire universe.

      _Da-dunk!_ Dean. Castiel’s whole body is covered in chills, not that he notices. All he can focus on is trying to push Dean out of his mind, away from him. _He is sin!_ His mind screams, slamming hands against every flat surface as Castiel crumbles. _I loved him!_ His heart screams, and Cas is torn, ripped apart from his very core. Everything the clinic said to him, made him into, is falling away, and Castiel can’t breathe. All he can see, all that he _is_ in this moment, is his heart slamming against his rib cage and his fingers trembling by his sides. He is not the rampant thoughts, flying a mile a minute. He is not the past clawing up around him. He is the thump of his heart and the twitch of his fingers. 

      _Da-dunk!_ His fingers map an invisible constellation. He focuses on that, and his breathing deepens a fraction. 

      _Da-dunk!_ The stars are not white. His vision widens from the tunnel.

      _Da-dunk!_ They are brown, sometimes gold. Castiel draws in a slow and deep breath. 

      _Da-dunk!_ They are freckles, _his_ freckles. Castiel's breath hitches and tears return to his eyes. 

      He finds himself in his car, Steve the Dog forgotten in the house as he drives to the liquor store. He doesn’t know why he goes there. Perhaps, it's because he’s crying, and alcohol has always been there to comfort him. Perhaps, it's because no matter what else he's done, the whisky always tastes a little like Dean…

      Its takes him forty minutes, forty minutes of hitched breathing and blinking away tears just so he can see the road. He never thought he’d end up here, running to drink Dean away. In the beginning, he thought Dean would not need to be drowned in alcohol, he thought Dean would be with him forever. Then the clinic happened, and Castiel thought that the end of Dean would be as easy as finishing the steps. He never thought ripping Dean from his veins would be a battle, and it has not been for nearly ten years. Nearly ten years have passed since he left Dean, and only now are those green eyes coming back to haunt him. He cannot do it. He cannot handle thinking of Dean again, cannot handle his many years of hard work becoming nothing. 

      The clerk at the liquor store does not look impressed by his red and puffy eyes. The man sells him his top shelf liquor with a bored smile and perfunctory, ‘Hi, how are you?’ Castiel snorts, but he is grateful. He doesn’t want someone to ask how he really is, because he will not be able to answer without breaking. 

      Castiel takes his liquor home, doesn’t bother with a glass. Instead, he props up on his couch and chugs until his nose runs. Then he feels better, feels warm for the first time in ten years. He even forgets—for a moment—why he’s drinking in the first place, but when it hits him again, he starts back in on the bottle, drinking slower as he relishes in the burn of the alcohol. The memories come at him slower now, but each time one approaches, he downs another inch of his medicine, his poison. 

_Dean is singing in the shower, the shadow of his hips swaying to an old Sinatra song, of all things. His microphone is his shampoo bottle, and his audience, as far as he knows, is himself. Cas joins in on the chorus, giggling at the startled break in Dean’s voice at his addition before he peels back the shower curtain and steps in. They finish the song together._

      Castiel throws back another shot. 

_“You fucker!” Dean screams at Sam, his knuckles clenched white around the Mario Kart controller. Sam has beaten him again, and Dean is loath to admit that it was fair and square. Cas is sitting on the couch, and Dean is on the floor using his knees as a backrest. Cas doesn’t mind. He likes Dean being so close._

      Another shot down. 

_“What about kids?” Dean blurts one night. He and Cas are sitting shoulder to shoulder, Cas with his Euro-Lit book and Dean with his Latin I book. They have been sitting in a comfortable silence as they do their homework. Cas looks over to his boyfriend, a smile flitting at his cheeks._

_“What about them?” Cas asks, setting his pencil down and laying a hand atop Dean’s wrist. Dean’s face is scarlet, and Cas is drunk on the sight._

_“Well, uh…do you want them? Um, someday?” Cas brushes his fingers over Dean’s fluttering pulse._

_“Are children something you want?” Cas asks softly, and Dean nods slowly, eyes downcast. “Then it’s something I want.”_

      Shot. 

      Castiel does not become a happy drunk. He does not become an angry drunk. He becomes a silent drunk, mind entirely empty of thoughts, and with that being the case, he is completely content to drown in his sorrows until he can’t remember his own name, let alone _Dean’s._ He is going to, too. That is his plan right from the start, to drink away Dean _Fucking_ Winchester, and he almost makes it. His eyes eventually slip shut, and he breathes out a contented sigh, finally at ease. 

      _About time,_ he thinks, his arms and legs warm, his fingers and toes numb. Dean is gone. But simply by noticing his absence, he brings Him back, and it is all shot to hell until the thought drifts away on his alcohol stream. Green eyes are there, Castiel’s eyes are closed, and nothing hurts in his groggy and drunken mind. _Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt,_ Cas thinks, and then snorts because the quote is funny to him. Dean loved Vonnegut. His eyes close again, and snores fill the air.

      He’s not sure how long he sleeps, but an instant passes before he’s being shaken. He grumbles for Steve to leave him alone, and Steve obeys. Another instant passes, and he is being drenched in gallons of Steve’s freezing slobber, his eyes springing open. 

      “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Steve calls, and it occurs to Cas’ hammering brain that maybe this isn’t Steve, that maybe he’s being robbed or something. In any other circumstances, as in, any time a nearly a quart of alcohol isn’t trying to burn its way out of his system, he might be concerned. Now though, he groans and rubs a hand down his face. He’s too damn hungover to keep his eyes open, too damn hurt to care about anything… He’s never been this hungover before in his life. He’s never had a reason to get as drunk was he was last night before. In fact, the only reason he’s _ever_ had to get drunk has been Dean...under completely different circumstance, granted, but still.

      The first time was with Dean. Dean had gotten his hands on a cheap bottle of wine, and he and Cas had drank the whole thing from plastic solo cups over a game of Scrabble. The drunker they got, the more jumbled the words became. Cas won the game with “flubberbast,” a drunken variation of what Cas was sure spelled “flabbergast.” Never mind the fact that in scrabble, people are only supposed to have seven letters, Dean still cheered and kissed his boyfriend in congratulations. “We did it, babe!” he’d said, and Cas has never forgotten that. “ _We_ did it,” like Cas’ victory was Dean’s victory too, like his joy was Dean’s joy, his pain was Dean’s pain. Cas loved it. That’s what love meant to Cas.

      Cas doesn’t know what or even how to think. His brain is too foggy to do anything but pound against his skull. Even so, he is lucid enough to know that he is soaked, and it occurs to him that he should pay attention with at least mild concern to the voice filtering into his consciousness. 

      “Jesus, Cassie,” the voice is saying, swimming in and out of Cas’ awareness. “You smell like the bottom of a flask. Did you bathe in vodka or something?” The voice takes on a familiar quality, but he cannot focus enough to determine who. A low drone is filling the air, and instead of focusing on the voice, Cas’ attention is being stolen by the buzz, even as his limbs register tugging and pulling. He can’t open his eyes yet. He feels like shit twice baked. “Christ, Cas, shut your mouth,” the voice says, and as a hand presses over his lips, the low drone stops. Cas realizes the sound was coming from him. He is so bewildered that his eyes pry open, and the instant that they do, his brain violently protests to such a careless act by sending shrieking pain into and through all of his nerves. 

      “Fuck,” he groans, and the effort it takes to do so sends another spike of pain through him. The voice snorts. 

      “Yeah, I’ll bet ‘fuck,’” the voice says without compassion as they pull Cas up roughly by his shoulders. “Did you drink a whole liquor store or something?” The light torturing Cas’ eyes fades to a dull, incessant throb, and the world becomes a little clearer. He sees his ceiling, fan turning lazily, light not even on. The sun is his assailant. He sees Steve, entirely uninterested in Cas and his preoccupations, dozing on the couch at his feet. Cas’ eyes burn as he blinks, but when they tear back open, he’s staring into amber eyes. 

      “Gabe?” Cas asks, and the amber eyes give way to a wolfish and mischievous grin. “What are you doing here?” he asks, blinking up to his big brother. It has been nearly two years since they have seen one another face to face. Cas is soaked. “Did you throw water on me?” 

      “What? Can I not miss my baby bro?” Gabe asks, feigning offense and letting Cas know that yes, he _had_ thrown water on him. If Cas weren’t so hungover, he’d roll his eyes. “What on earth possessed you to drink a whole fifth?” Gabe demands, picking up the empty bottle and tossing it aside. 

      “Why have I ever felt the urge to drink?” Cas asks grumpily, less grumpy with Gabe and more with the whole situation, more with Dean, more with the fact that Dean _fucking_ Winchester has put him back in the same place he was ten years ago. Gabe’s face changes.

      “Winchester back in town?” he asks, trying for playful and missing it by a whole hell of a lot. He sounds concerned instead, and according to the darkening of Cas’ eyes at the very name, he’s right to be concerned. Gabe opens his mouth to ask, but ten years later, it’s still very obvious that Cas does not want to talk about the crack, rift, chasm, _abyss_ that has been torn between him and Dean Winchester. 

      Gabriel, to this day, doesn’t know what tore the inseparable pair apart. He knows that they were sleeping together by the time he left that last time for school, and when he came home, Cas had started going by Castiel and refused to speak about Dean at all. His very name was a taboo for everyone, even Anna refused to talk about it, refused to talk to Cas, always saying bitterly and angrily that Gabe could ask _him,_ could ask _Mom,_ but Gabriel wasn’t about to ask their mother. Gabe doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand what could possibly have ripped Dean and Cas apart, and the allure of that mystery has been enticing him for ten years. Every time he sees that checked out look in Cas’ eyes, he wonders where Dean went, why he left and took Gabe’s baby brother with him. 

      It’s enough to make Gabe hate Dean, so instead of asking, Gabriel says, “Let’s get something greasy in you.” Cas’ stomach rolls at the thought, but two hours, three cups of coffee, and a plate of Denny’s later, Cas’ hangover is nothing more than an ache through his body like topping the edge of a nasty flu. He wears shades to shield his sensitive eyes as much as he wears them to hide the puffiness and the teary, red look that comes with spending the night crying. 

      Gabriel doesn’t say much over their meal, and Cas doesn’t really mind. He’s too busy remembering what he was drinking to forget. Instead, Gabriel simply sits and stares at Cas. It’s been almost two years since he’s seen him with his own eyes, and quite honestly, the time apart hasn’t bothered him. When they were little, it would have killed Gabe to go two days without hearing his little brother’s infectious laugh or seeing his wide eyes staring in wonderment. 

      But now…now Cas is Castiel, absent smiles and empty eyes, and it makes Gabriel sad to see. It’s easier to pretend that there’s too much work to do, not enough hours to fly down and see Castiel. It’s easier to pretend that Castiel is still Cas rather than see him like this. Of course, Gabe’s not stupid. He knows visiting Castiel will not help. He will not be the one to bring his little brother back, to bring _Cas_ back. 

      It will be Dean Winchester.

* * *

      A few hours later, they are back to Castiel’s neatly kept house, yard trimmed, green, and perfectly suited for a picket fence. Castiel looks a little better, merely squinting his eyes against the sun instead of blocking it entirely with his hand. Gabriel is still worried, but he still does not ask...

      As it turns out, he does not need to. Castiel gets out of the car slowly, unlocks the front door mechanically, and stops in the threshold, eyes wide and horrified. Steve barks happily at him, but Castiel is seeing something else. He is seeing the emptiness of his home, the emptiness of his life. 

      “What have I done?” he whispers, and Gabe flinches away from the emptiness in his brother’s eyes. Gabe does not know what to do. He knows Castiel is not seeing the liquor he spilled on his big, fancy carpet. He is not seeing the dog left alone at the house. He turns to Gabe with wide and desperate eyes. “How did I let this happen?” he asks, his voice shaking.

      “Three guesses,” Gabe says softly, and Cas’ eyes widen more, if even possible. 

      “This was never supposed to happen,” Cas mutters, lips barely moving as he speaks. Gabe opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, Cas is snatching his keys off the table and running for the door. 

      “Cas, where are you going?” he calls after him, and when Cas does not respond, Gabe runs after his little brother and barely manages to slide into Cas’ car before it is speeding down the highway. “Where the hell are we going?” Gabe demands, clicking his seat belt into place in hopes of counteracting Cas’ outrageous driving. 

      “I have to find him,” and that is it. Gabriel watches his brother for another long moment in an attempt to gauge the damage, but after a while of Cas staring intently through the windshield, the foot over the accelerator presses harder. 

      They make the 90 mile road back to Sceadan Street in under an hour, and the memories start in on Cas immediately. Dean is attached to each and every one. They are all attacking him, assaulting him, ripping him apart, and Castiel is doing all he can to keep them at bay. He knows he fucked it up. He knows. He doesn’t need these memories to tell him that, but that doesn’t stop them. 

_“You’re a huge fucking nerd, and I love you for it,” Dean says, a grin on his face, their foreheads pressed together. Cas reels back with an even bigger grin._

_“How was I being a nerd?” he asks, smiling widely at his boyfriend. Dean shrugs._

_“I don’t know. You just were. It’s who you are, babe, and I love it.”_

_“You better,” and Cas kisses him just because he can._

      Cas blinks.

_“Come on, Cas! It’s not much of a race if you’re not even trying!” Dean calls over his shoulder. Cas is too distracted by the fireflies._

_“Dean, look! The lightning bugs are starting to gather! They don’t usually do that until late August!” Cas is stopped in the middle of the trail looking around in wonder. Dean backtracks a bit so they can watch the light show together. When the lights stop flickering around them, they turn to one another._

_“Race ya!” Dean says with a grin, and this time, when Dean takes off, Cas chases after him._

      Cas blinks.

_“I brought you a blanket, babe,” Dean says, stepping up to Cas on the porch and handing him a blanket. Cas smiles up at him gratefully, the November air nipping against his fingers. It has been progressively getting colder as the night wears on, but he and Dean have had the pleasure of sitting on the porch without a care in the world, and they have been taking full advantage of it. Dean sits beside Cas, wraps an arm around him, and wraps the blanket around both of them._

_“Thanks, Dean,” Cas murmurs, lacing his fingers through Dean with a soft smile._

      Cas blinks. He is here. He is here. He is parked in front of that old house built of a million memories, thirteen years of brotherhood, one endless Autumn of passions, and ten years of wasted time. Cas’ heart slams wildly in his chest. _Dean,_ it says. _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean,_ and so on into eternity. Cas pushes his door open and stands tall. 

      Gabriel follows close behind, shutting his door softly and walking around to stand next to Cas. They both stare up at the house. For Gabriel, that house is just the house across the street, but for Cas, that house was half of his whole childhood, and the man inside is the love of his life. The thought sets his heart to stuttering like it used to all those years ago. 

      “You alright, Cas?” Gabe asks, and Cas nods. 

      “I will be soon,” he murmurs and takes that first leap of a step with Gabriel close at his heels. After closing the distance between him and the door, Cas must take a deep breath before he can knock, but when he does, blood begins to ring in Cas’ ears. When steps begin to sound from the other side, his whole world stops.

      “Whoa there, little brother. You’re not looking so hot,” Gabe says, taking in the slightly green tint to Cas’ skin. The door opens, and there stands Sam Winchester, six feet, four inches tall with muscle roped around every possible limb. Tears spring to Cas’ eyes at the sight. It has been ten years since Cas has seen the squirt that Dean loved so much, ten years since Cas has seen Sam, who Cas loved in his own rite. 

      Gabriel, however, Gabriel is not feeling sentimental in the least. He lets out a low whistle, eyes raking over Sam darkly. 

      “Fe fi fo fum, what bean stalk can I get one? Hello, I’m Gabe.” Gabriel winks, and Sam blushes a dark red. 

      “Gabriel,” Cas chokes out, horrified, still staring at Sam. “This is Sam Winchester.” Gabriel reels back to look at Cas, eyes wide and incredulous. 

      “ _This_ is little Sammy Winchester?” Cas nods, and Gabe’s eyes flick back to Sam. “My, how you’ve changed.” Gabe winks at Sam, and again, the man turns a dark red, this time crossing his arms over his chest defensively. 

      “What are you doing here, Castiel?” Sam asks, his voice deep like Cas was never able to hear it change to. He is cold too, distant with years and resentment. Cas swallows. 

      “I need to see him,” and as soon as the words leave his lips, Sam’s eyes flash. 

      “He’s not here,” he says coldly, and Cas’ heart falls. 

      “Where is he?” Cas asks, and Sam’s jaw clenches. 

      Silence. 

      Cas swallows and tries again. “Okay…let me start over. Hi, Sam. It’s been a long time.” Cas pauses, taking in the differences between thirteen-year-old Sammy and twenty-three-year old Sam. He’s very tall, tall and handsome like his brother. His hair is much longer than Cas can believe Dean relented his teasing long enough to allow. “How have you been?” Sam’s eyes narrow, and Cas’ eyes glance around him into the house. “How’s Jessica?” he asks, because Jess is surely a safe topic with Sam. They are the eternal couple, more in love than any pair of thirteen year olds had a right to be. 

      If Cas thought Sam was cold before, as soon as he says her name, Sam becomes a blizzard, a tundra. 

      “Jess is dead,” Sam bites out, and Cas’ heart stops. A moment passes, and then another.

      “What happened?” he manages finally, and Sam grits his teeth.

      “Fire,” he says shortly, and the words are like a punch in the gut to Cas. 

      “Sam,” Cas starts, reaching out to…well, he doesn’t know what for, but he knows he wants to comfort Sam, to apologize, not just for Dean but for Jess too. Sam was like _his_ little brother too, once upon a time. 

      “ _Don’t_ ,” Sam hisses, jerking away before Cas can set a hand on his shoulder. “It’s your fault, you son of a bitch!” Cas reels a bit. 

      “Sam, I-I’m sorry about Jess, but I,” but Sam is already shaking his head and speaking over Cas. 

      “Not _her_." His face is stony, and rage simmers below the surface. " _Dean._ I may not can blame you for taking Jess, but I can _damn well_ blame you for taking _him_ from me.” Sam seethes and Cas drops his eyes, ashamed because he's not wrong. Gabriel, on the other hand, goes on the defensive for his little brother. 

      “Hold on there, Colossus; Cas didn’t take anything. Dean-O is the one who left and turned Cas into a fucking _robot_ for ten years.” Sam snorts and cuts his eyes to Cas. Sam is looking Cas dead in the eye when he speaks next.

      “Is that what he told you?” 

      “Yes,” Gabe says firmly, ever one to trust that his baby brother could do no wrong. Sam still has his eyes locked on Cas, and Cas is petrified in his stare. They both know the truth. 

      “That’s not quite what I remember happening,” Sam says calmly, and Gabe snorts. 

      “Oh yeah? Then what happened?” 

      “Your _baby brother_ ripped Dean’s heart out.” Sam says, and Cas flinches away from the words, finally closing his eyes against Sam’s accusing stare. _Good,_ Sam thinks, watching the hurt rip through Cas. _He deserves it after what he did to Dean._

      “No, he didn’t,” Gabe defends automatically, and Sam shifts his eyes from Cas to Gabe and shrugs. 

      “Ask him,” he says simply, and the indifference of it all has Gabe’s eyes sliding from Sam over to Cas.

      “Cas?” Gabe asks quietly, as though lowering the volume will lessen the weight of the question. Cas can’t meet Gabe’s eyes. He’s too ashamed. “Well damn,” Gabe concludes finally, his big, defensive, and protective posture deflating. “Here I’ve been pissed at Dean for ten years for leaving you, and all the while, I should have been pissed at you for doing this to yourself and leaving _him._ ” Gabe’s eyes are disappointed, and Cas’ eyes are filling with tears. That hard and stoic person he was for ten years is gone. Castiel is gone.

      “You don’t understand,” Cas says quietly, voice heavy with tears. 

      “Well then _explain,_ Cas. _Ten years_ you were this, this empty shell of yourself, emotionless and _not_ my little brother! _Please,_ explain just what the _fuck_ you were thinking going and doing that to yourself?!” 

      “You don’t understand!” Cas cries desperately. “You weren’t there! You don’t know what it was like!” Cas and Gabe lock eyes, one set angry, the other sorrowful. Sam clears his throat. 

      “Well, as much fun as this has been, I’m just gonna go,” he says, and begins to step back into the house. 

      “Wait!” Cas cries, latching a hand around Sam’s arm to keep him in place. “Please, Sam, _please._ I have to make it right.” Sam’s eyes narrow, but he isn’t retreating. 

      “Why should I trust you? You don’t even know what you did to him. You broke his heart, _ruined_ him.” Cas flinches away from the words, eyes squeezing shut. 

      “I’m sorry,” he whispers, chest aching at the thought, the _guilt_ of hurting Dean. “I just want to make things right with him.” Sam takes him in slowly, from his two-day-old rumpled suit, to his shaking hands, and up to his bloodshot eyes. 

      “He’s married now, got a kid. He’s happy, Cas,” and as much as that fact hurts, as much as he aches with the fact that they'll never be how they used to, he nods. He still needs to apologize. He still needs to know that the man he loves does not hate him. 

      “I’m not here to fuck his life up,” Cas says finally. “I don’t want to hurt him ever again. I swear, Sam, I just want to apologize. I just want him to be happy.” 

      “Why?” Sam asks skeptically. “You broke his heart. He loved you more than he’s ever loved anything, and you told him your whole relationship was a mistake, told him you never loved him, told him he ruins everything he touches. Why are you back _now,_ of all times, when he’s nothing but happy?” Cas’ eyes are on the ground. He is reliving all those awful things he said to Dean. He is staring into those devastated green eyes as Dean is told the worst things imaginable by the one person he never thought would hurt him. 

      “I love him,” Cas chokes out around the lump in his throat. He is seeing his best friend. He is seeing the love of his life. He is seeing everything Dean has ever been, everything he ever will be. “I love him.” Cas chews his lips to keep the sobs from taking him over. He knows his has no right to cry, not here, not in front of Sam. _His_ heart was not shattered in the split. _He_ left _Dean_. He should not be so broken, but here he is, holding back sobs over Dean. He is grieving Dean like he has died. 

      “Seattle,” Sam says finally, and Cas’ weary eyes raise at the word. “Dean is in Seattle.” Sam’s rigid posture has been softened by Cas’ obvious hurt and sorrow, by the guilt that is eating him alive.

      “Thank you, Sam,” Cas whispers finally, eyes wide and glossy. 

      “God, don’t let me regret this,” Sam mutters instead of responding. “Give me ten minutes and we’ll leave.” 

      “You’re coming with us to Seattle?” Gabe asks, saying _us_ , though Cas had not, in fact, invited _him_. 

      “I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Sam says, as though it were an obvious point. Cas supposes it should have been. Sam has no reason to trust him, but seeing that he doesn’t still hurts a bit. Even so, when Sam returns ten minutes later, Cas digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the doors so Sam can crawl in. When the door shuts behind him, Gabe’s voice touches Cas. 

      “I so want to tap that,” he says eloquently, and Cas sighs 

      “Not the time, Gabe,” he warns, still shaky over his past conversation, but Gabe just ignores the tremor in his voice, snickers, and goes to crawl in behind the Sasquatch who claimed shotgun.

* * *

      Across the street, a kitchen window slides back into place, and a call is made collect to one Naomi Christiansen.


	12. Chapter 12

     Dean is on a lake, his back to the setting sun and a fishing pole in hand. His eyes are closed. He doesn’t need his eyes open to catch a fish. The breeze ripples the water slightly, coaxing the afternoon heat into a milder evening. It’s nice. 

      “Hello, Dean,” a voice says, and he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know whose voice it is. He’s heard that voice say a million different words, his name being the most common. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that it’s Cas, but he does, and it's his ceiling, big and empty and distinctly _not Cas_ , that greets him. 

     Dean is not on a lake. He is in bed, his back stuck to the sheets with sweat and the great stretch of bed between him and the person sleeping next to him. That’s not uncommon. She doesn’t like to be touched while she sleeps. While she’s awake either, for that matter, but they are married, and the married share a bed. 

     Yes. Married. Dean Winchester. He has bitten the bullet and settled down for the long haul. He has a job and a mortgage and a wife and a kid. He’s practically a full grown adult. He is so grown, in fact, that he absolutely does _not_ have dreams about his ex-boyfriend from ten years ago. Nope. 

     “Fuck,” Dean hisses, quietly, as not to wake Lydia. This is the third night this week he’s dreamed of Cas. The fact that he can’t even get away from that dick in his dreams—with ten years between them, nonetheless—makes Dean furious. Even so, he rolls away from his warm bed, the knowledge that he won’t be able to sleep again heavy on him as he heads for the kitchen. On his way, he steps over plastic Barbie dolls, picks up the princess costume she traded for her cowboy outfit, and pokes his head into her room. 

     His daughter, tangled beneath the soft, green quilt Ellen made and sent when she learned Dean was going to be a father, is snoring lightly, her cowboy hat resting atop her favorite stuffed horse and boots tossed haphazardly in the closet from where Lydia told her to clean up before dinner. Dean’s heart swells. He crosses the room and presses a kiss against her forehead. 

     “Love you, bug,” Dean murmurs, skimming his fingers over her corn silk hair. He turns away from her and moves to hang her princess dress back in the closet. He steals one last look at her steadily moving chest and fluttering eyes before smiling and leaving her room. 

     The coffee brews slowly, sputtering out life until it is nothing but a low groan. Dean leans against the counter with his eyes shut as he waits. He is trying to think of anything other than his dream, anything other than Him. He struggles. _Lydia and I have a PTA meeting tomorrow._ Anger unfurls in his gut because Cas fucking _left_ him. _Emma did well in her first t-ball game._ An image of Cas fifteen years ago decked out in his soccer gear flashes through his mind. _Lydia set out that dress to wear today that I like._ Cas fucking left. Cas never loved him. Dean groans and jerks the pot from beneath the brewer. He pours his coffee angrily, angry at himself for being angry. He does not want this rage. He doesn’t want to hate Cas. He _loves_ Cas. He always has. Dean, too distracted to notice that his coffee is scalding, takes a sip and nearly spews it over his tiny kitchen.

     “Daddy?” a tiny voice asks, and Dean blinks his way out of Cas thoughts and scalding coffee to find himself thigh to face with Emma, her favorite stuffed elephant clutched tightly to her chest. 

     “What’s up, bug?” Dean asks, setting his coffee to the side and scooping her up into his arms. She immediately curls around him, legs wrapping around his waist, arms twining around his neck, face pressing into the crook of his shoulder. Her eyes are wet with tears. 

     “I had a bad dream,” she says into his neck, and he holds her tighter, rubbing soothing circles into her back. 

     “Aw, sweetheart,” Dean croons, his heart clenching with her fear. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

     “Can you check?” she whispers, and what is Dean to do but say, _yes, of course. I’ll always check, always protect you._ So little Emma rides Dean’s hip back into her room and hides her face in his neck while he checks in the closet, beneath the bed, out the window. 

     “See?” Dean asks, putting her gently back in her bed. “Nothing to be afraid of, bug.” He kisses her forehead and wipes away what’s left of her tears. “You gonna be okay to sleep again?” he asks her, and she squirms deeper beneath her covers so that only her bright green eyes are showing. 

     “No,” she whispers, and Dean can’t help but to smile. 

     “You want me to read to you?” Dean asks, smiling at her amusedly. Her eyes sparkle with that undying Winchester mischief, and he knows she will not be sleeping again tonight, monster in her closet or no. 

     “Yes, Daddy,” she says, showing him her gummy, gap-toothed smile. He loves her more than anything he’s ever known. Looking at her, the ache of Cas is nothing. It is a drone easily forgotten. “Read _Peter Pan_ ,” she begs excitedly, and Dean groans playfully. 

     “Aren’t you tired of old Pan and Wendy?” he asks, already pulling the book down from her shelf and settling next to her on the bed. 

     “No, Daddy,” she giggles, crawling into his lap and resting her head against his sternum. 

     “Your uncle Sam used to beg me to read this book too,” he tells her, smoothing her hair down and opening the book. 

     “Start where Peter Pan teaches them to fly,” she requests, tugging her blanket over them both and settling closer to Dean, her tiny little body trusting him completely. That used to scare Dean, her being so blindly faithful of him, so absolutely sure that he would never hurt her. Dean had never experienced that kind of trust before, but Emma holds his heart just as much as he holds hers. To say that she is a daddy’s girl is a massive, _massive_ understatement, and Dean has never loved anything more in his life. 

     “Here we go,” Dean says, settling close and opening the book to her request. He clears his throat and begins. “‘Oh dear, I can’t. Think of mummy! Besides, I can’t fly.’ ‘I’ll teach you.’” And away Dean and Emma went, flying to Neverland with Peter Pan to have great big adventures. They laugh and giggle and read until Lydia tears them away with the sound of her voice in the doorway. 

     “When she gets fussy later from not having had enough sleep, I’m sending her to you,” she says, bored with their games and child’s play. Dean’s eyes fall. He tries not to imagine a reality in which Cas had been Lydia; he tries not to imagine the way Cas would have curled up with them and done silly voices for Hook. He tries and only manages to push the thought away when Emma’s little hand closes over his. 

     “Keep reading, Daddy,” Emma asks softly, patting his hand to let him know she needs him. That’s something she’s always done, the patting. 

     “Sure thing, bug,” Dean says after clearing his throat and turning his thoughts away from Cas. He reads with Emma until Lydia shows back up, wearing that dress Dean swears he likes with lips painted pristinely. 

     “Do you mind taking her to daycare? I’m running late,” she asks, arms folded loosely across her chest. 

     “I don’t have to work today. Why don’t we just stay here?” Dean suggests, closing Peter Pan gently and setting it to the side. Emma’s head falls back against his chest, and he finds himself running an absent hand through her hair. 

     “No, she needs to go so she can learn to socialize with other kids,” Lydia says stiffly, her long red hair shifted across one shoulder. She is wearing the pearls Dean gave her for their first wedding anniversary. She was angry because they were not paper, and pearls are for year thirty. Dean wonders when along the way he was forgotten in their relationship, when their partnership became a dictatorship under Supreme Leader Lydia. 

     “That’s fine,” Dean says eventually, setting Emma on the floor so she can tell her mother goodbye. Emma runs to Lydia and wraps her skinny arms around Lydia’s legs, but all she gets in response is a couple of pats on the head from Lydia. Dean stands to the side through the exchange, and when Emma runs away, not having noticed the neglect, Dean steps forward and leans in for a kiss.

     “Whoa, wait. My make-up,” Lydia stops him, leaning away as quickly as he can lean in. He freezes, both of them bent at awkward angles to keep in this silly limbo. 

     “You’re right,” Dean concludes finally, and it’s okay that his wife doesn’t want to kiss him. That happens with married people sometimes. “Sorry babe,” he apologizes, putting his hands in his pockets and backing away. 

     “Dinner at six,” she reminds before leaving without another word. When Dean turns back around, Emma has settled back in her bed with Peter Pan open as she looks through the pages intently and uncomprehendingly. Dean smiles as he settles back beside her, the coldness his wife put in him melting away in Emma’s golden glow. They finish the rest of the chapter before Dean begins to move on Lydia’s orders. He dresses his daughter in the outfit Lydia set out for her and tries for the third day in a row to teach her to tie her shoes. 

     Her stubby little fingers almost manage it today, and to celebrate that his daughter is a genius, that Dean is off work, and that his daughter is singing along to classic rock from her car seat—what can he say, the girl _is_ his—, he opts to stop for an ice-cream breakfast, Lydia be damned. Emma giggles and laughs and makes a mess because she is notorious for that kind of thing, and Dean loves her for it. He cleans her up in the family bathroom and takes her to daycare with a tummy full of pure sugar. He wishes her teacher good luck before making himself leave her there.

* * *

     “Why did _you_ get to ride up front and not me? _I’m,_ his brother,” Gabe asks Sam bitterly, unfolding himself from the backseat and stretching with a groan. Sam follows suit, his signature bitch face flashing. 

     “Because my legs aren’t the size of a toddler’s,” Sam retorts back, and Cas ignores their biting exchange in favor of checking the trio into a motel. They are here. Seattle lies ahead after spending nearly 26 hours straight on the road. They slept in shifts, someone awake in the front to drive, someone awake in the front to keep the driver awake, and someone asleep in the back to take the next shift driving. Cas doesn’t envy Gabe or Sam the silence he’s sure filled the car while he was asleep. Either way, now that he’s awake, the realization that He is here is thrumming around him. 

      _Dean,_ it is saying. _Dean, Dean, Dean._

     It had been decided that Sam would see Him first because Dean is his brother, because Sam has not spent the last ten years with Dean’s broken heart on his conscience. The thought of Dean's broken heart makes Cas cringe, and when Sam takes Cas' car and drives toward Him, Cas feels the need to defend himself to Gabriel.

     “I never meant to hurt him, Gabe,” he mutters to Gabe with a frown. Gabe merely offers him a sad smile. 

     “It’s not me you have to explain yourself to, kid,” he says before picking his bag up off the ground and heading for his and Cas’ shared motel room. 

     “I just wanted you to know,” Cas calls after him, his voice shaking. “I want you to know I never meant to hurt him.” Gabe sighs. 

     “Sure you did, Cas,” Gabe says, stopping and turning back to Cas with an unreadable look. “You were confused, brainwashed, convinced it was wrong, so you broke up with him, told him to go. I’m sure he didn’t agree to that easily, so you had to say what you had to say to get him to leave. You needed to hurt him to make him leave, and I get it. I get it, really, I do, but don’t say you didn’t mean to hurt him, because you did.” Gabe’s voice is not angry. He is not being harsh; he is not being cruel, but by the time he finishes, Cas is holding back tears again.

     “I’m sorry,” he says around the lump in his throat.

     “I’m not the person you need to apologize to either, Cassie,” he says, and this time when he walks away, Cas does not stop him. When he gets inside, he starts a shower in hopes of washing the tears and the regret and the past off him.

* * *

     When Dean gets back to his house, picket fence and all, he finds a tan, low-riding hunk of metal where his baby should be parked. He furrows his brow at the Kansas plates, but when he sees his gangly-ass, bitch of a brother, a grin the size of Montana stretches across his lips. 

     “Sam,” he croons as he steps out of his car. Sam rises from Dean’s porch swing and grins back at his brother.

     “Hey, Dean,” Sam says, meeting his brother halfway for the bone-crushing hug he knows is coming for him.

     “Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean laughs as he clutches his brother to his chest. “What the hell are you doing here?” he laughs, but Sam doesn’t say anything, only hugs his brother tighter to him. When Dean pulls away, Sam sees his brother at fifteen, grinning like he’s ready to face the whole world because he has not a care. When Dean pulls away, Sam looks at him, really looks at him. He sees the scar above Dean’s eyebrow from a swing John meant for Sam. He sees his mom’s nose. He sees the first pair of green eyes in the family in generations. He sees his brother, nails dirty, face scarred, his brother whose very name is a four letter word, his brother who he would not have any other way. He sees him happy, and Sam smiles. 

     “How have you been?” Sam asks, and Dean grins. 

     “Emma learned to tie her shoes,” Dean says in reply, and Sam beams. 

     “That’s _my_ niece,” Sam says, and Dean laughs. 

     “She didn’t get her brains from me, that’s for sure,” Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes. 

     “Shut up, Dean, you’re smart as shit.”

     “You want a beer?” 

     “I would love a beer,” Sam says, so Dean unlocks his door and pops the top on a beer for his baby brother. They sit together in the kitchen and talk for hours, spending no time at all and all the time in the world there in those chairs. When Lydia pushes open the door, Emma on her hip, she finds them still nursing their first beer and appropriately buzzed on the presence of the other. 

     “Uncle Sammy,” Emma shouts, jumping from her mom’s hip and running straight into Sam’s arms. 

     “Hey, Emmie,” Sam laughs, catching Emma when she leaps at him. Dean grins and takes another sip of his beer. He is damn happy. He has his baby brother and his baby girl. He is damn happy. 

     Dean convinces Sam to stay for dinner, despite Sam swearing he has friends waiting back at the motel room, and when Lydia begrudgingly begins to cook them all dinner, Sam knows he has lost. He didn’t really want to win. Life here with Dean is so much better than that motel room with the guy who broke his brother’s heart and said guy's annoying older brother. Life here with Dean is what it’s always been, fun, safe, simple. 

     “Sammy, how long are you gonna stay with us?” Emma asks after dinner, climbing up in Sam’s lap and patting his arm. 

     “How long do you want me to stay?” he asks with a smile, cocking his head at his niece. 

     “Forever,” she croons excitedly, falling back and relying on Sam to catch her. He does. Of course he does. 

     “I don’t think I can stay forever,” he says with a laugh, standing and shifting her weight so she is hanging upside down from the hand he has wrapped around her ankle. She giggles in delight, so he starts swinging her side to side, filling his heart with the sound. 

     “Daddy, look,” Emma says through giggles, her long, blonde hair dragging the ground with Sam’s swinging. 

     “I see,” he croons, stepping up and squeezing the skin of her stomach, causing her to giggle more. Sam smiles and turns her right-side-up on his hip. “How long _are_ you staying?” Dean asks when Emma’s giggling slows to a halt. Sam glances at his watch to find that he’s already been there for close to ten hours. 

     “I should get going, actually,” he says, causing Emma to let out a low groan. 

     “Noooo,” she says, clutching Sam’s neck tightly and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. Sam grins, holding her close. 

     “I’ll be back tomorrow, Emmie,” he promises, and at the words, she springs away, her pinky outstretched. 

     “Promise?” she asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sam laughs. 

     “I promise,” he says, wrapping his pinky around hers. She nods sharply once before clambering down off his hip. 

     “Bye Uncle Sammy,” she sings before going to find Lydia. Dean watches her with wonder before turning back to Sam. 

     “She’s something else,” Sam says, reading the soft and gooey look on Dean’s face. 

     “God, I love that kid. It scares me how much,” he says, and Sam nods understandingly. Nothing needs to be said. Sam knows how Dean feels about his daughter, what he’d give to make sure she’s safe. “So you’re coming back tomorrow?” 

     “Yep,” Sam says, so Dean nods. 

     “Okay, what do you think about grilling tomorrow night? You can bring your friends, and we’ll all have a good time, huh?” Dean claps Sam on the shoulder, and Sam pushes out a nervous laugh. 

     “I’ll be here,” is all he can promise. “See you tomorrow,” he says before heading out. 

     The drive back to the motel weighs heavy on his heart. He hasn’t seen Dean this happy since Cas-since _Castiel_ left.

     When he gets back to the motel room, Cas immediately storms him, eyes so wide and hopeful that Sam can barely stand to look at him. He looks to Gabriel instead. Gabriel is leaning against the bathroom door frame with his hands in his pockets, the look on his face making it clear that he already knows. 

     “So,” Cas prompts after an eternity of silence, impatient with Sam and his deliberation. “How is he?” he asks, hands wringing together. Sam looks away from Gabriel to lock eyes with Cas. 

     “He’s good, Cas,” Sam says with a small sigh. “He’s really, _really_ good. I haven’t seen him this happy in years.” Cas smiles a bit sensing the _but_ , and it shocks Sam how much it hurts to hurt him. “I don’t think you should see him,” Sam blurts, and Cas closes his eyes, dead smile still plastered there. “It’s just.” Sam pushes out a burst of air and runs a hand down his face. Cas pulls in a slow breath and opens his eyes. “He’s really happy, Cas. Seeing you would just…bring back old memories, memories that he’s worked hard to forget and get past. It would only upset him.” Tears well up in Cas’ eyes, but he nods a bit. 

     “Is he really happy?” Sam looks up from his shoes, and stares at Cas, considering for a long while. 

     “Yeah, buddy,” Sam says gently. “He is,” and that sad smile on Cas’ face grows a bit. 

     “Good,” he murmurs, and turns away. He shuts himself in the bathroom for a while, runs the water to cover the sound of his tears, and comes back without a trace of sadness left on his face. He opens his book and moves his eyes over the same page for three hours. Sam eventually goes to his own room, Gabe eventually shuts out the light, and Cas eventually closes his book, closes his eyes, and goes to bed. He stares at the ceiling for a while, a was-probably-white-once-upon-a-time thing covered in water stains and cobwebs. Cas knows the feeling. He knows the feeling of being wrong, of no longer being good enough. After all, he drove all this way, shot his whole life to hell, all for Him, and he will not even see Him. 

     It was worth it. 

     Every mile, every goddamn second of the tears and the heartbreak, it was worth it to remember how he felt about Dean. It was worth it, just to know that He’s happy. Dean will _always_ be worth it, and Cas will pick it all up and walk away if that's what Dean needs to be happy.


	13. Chapter 13

      “What do you _mean_ there’s no coffee?” Gabriel growls into the phone. His hair is a mess and his morning breath is melting the phone, but he refuses to do anything about any of it until he’s had his coffee. Be that as it may, the motel's supply ran out yesterday, via the bored woman at the front desk. 

      “Gabe,” Cas groans, his head in his hands. He has been listening to Gabriel bitch for the past half hour. “I will get you some fucking coffee on the road. Can we _please_ just leave?” Gabe slaps his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and glares at Cas. 

      “That is _not_ the point, _Asstiel,_ ” Gabriel hisses, running an agitated hand through his already messy hair. “The _point_ is that there should be _coffee_ when the pamphlet _says_ there’s fucking _coffee!_ ” Castiel groans, running a hand through his own hair. 

      “Jesus Christ, Gabriel,” Cas says, standing and jerking his keys off the bedside table. 

      “Hey, where are you going?” Gabe barks, putting his hand back over the mouthpiece. 

      “To buy some damn coffee so this room has coffee and _someone in this room who is not me_ will end their goddamn _hissy fit_.”

      “Don’t go away angry,” Gabe says sweetly, a dark look on his face. “Just go away.” Cas scoffs in frustration and slams the door on his way out.

* * *

      “Hey, Lydia,” Dean calls, his head searching between the shelves of the refrigerator. “Where did you put the steaks?” 

      “I took them to my boss. He’s getting irritated that that I keep leaving work early,” Lydia calls from the back of the house.

      “Doesn’t he know you’re leaving to pick up Emma?” Dean asks, standing back and turning his head towards the back of the house. 

      “He doesn’t care. That’s why I keep asking you to pick her up,” Lydia snaps, and Dean sighs. He hangs his head and scrubs a hand down his face.

      “I work too, Lyd,” Dean calls, and he hears Lydia snort. 

      "Hardly," she retorts, and Dean stands, his voice irritated. 

      “Can you _not_ do this right now?" Dean bites. "Little ears are always listening.” Dean looks over to his daughter, her face rapt in Saturday morning cartoons. “I’m going to go to the store. Need anything?”

      “No, but take my car. Your car guzzles gas, and we can’t afford it.” Dean clenches his jaw, closes the fridge, and picks _her_ keys up off the counter.

* * *

     The air against Cas’ skin is chilly for the beginning of summer. He rubs his hands down his arms to soothe the goosebumps as he makes his way to his car. According to his GPS, the closest grocery store is deep in the suburbs over ten miles away, so he begrudgingly drives the ten miles and parks as close to the store front as he can manage.

      “Excuse me,” he asks a cashier when he gets inside. “Can you point me towards the coffee?” he asks, putting on his most charming smile. The girl looks at him, pops her gum, and points to the overhead signs which map the location of nearly everything, coffee included. “Thanks,” he says awkwardly, and sets off towards the aisle that is marked coffee, tea, and herbs. When he gets there, he is faced with five long-ass shelves of coffee. He sighs and steps forward and begins sifting through them in order to find a brand Gabriel won’t bitch about. He is about halfway through and palming a glass jar of coffee beans “Imported Straight from Columbia” when he sees someone in his peripheral vision. He looks up, and for whatever reason, the person walking by looks up as well. When their eyes meet, they both freeze. 

      “C-Cas,” the man stutters, and at the mere sound of his name on those lips after all this time, the jar Cas is holding slips between his fingers and shatters against the ground. It doesn’t matter. He is here. Dean is here. 

     They stare at one another for a long time, eyes wide and shell shocked. Neither move. They are frozen by ten years and the gaze of the other. _He looks damn good,_ Cas thinks numbly. Age has broadened Dean, hardened and defined him. Where he was absolutely beautiful before, he is now strikingly handsome. Looking at him, Cas sees his best friend, his heartbreak. 

      “Dean,” he says, blinking once, twice, three times. Dean does not disappear.

      “Wha-what are you doing here?” Dean asks, his voice shaky, on the edge of panic. 

      “Dean,” Cas whispers again, his entire body screaming for Him, screaming to spring at Him, wrap Him in his arms, and refuse to ever let go again. His heart is slamming in his chest, and every night he’s ever spent alone, with anyone but Him is playing over and over again in his head. He is reliving the emptiness of it all, the cold of the past ten years. 

     He wants Dean, God does he ever, wants him like the grass wants the ground, but seeing him there, seeing just how good he looks, reminds Cas that he is supposed to be walking away. He is supposed to be getting coffee and getting the hell out of Dodge. He was supposed to walk away, but it’s too late now. He has been spotted. Dean is looking at him, seeing him for the first time in years. “I’m sorry,” Cas blurts, turning away from Dean, away from his mess, and rushing towards the exit. 

      “Cas, wait,” Dean calls, wrapping a hand around Cas’ arm before he can get away. “Where are you going?”

      “I should have never come. I didn’t know. I don’t want…” Cas is breathing heavily, staring up into Dean’s eyes. Dean is looking down at him, and Cas swears that he looks normal, that he doesn’t look angry. Cas is angry enough at himself for both of them. 

      “Cas, what are you talking about?” Dean’s heart is slamming in his chest. He never thought he’d see Cas again. He thought that their run in the sun was over, but here he is, face frozen in terror and ten years alone beneath his belt. It’s been ten years, and after dreaming of him and being pissed at him and hating him and loving him, God, _loving him,_ Dean decides then and there that because fate put him and Cas in the same place, he'll _forgive him;_ they'll start over, no questions asked. 

      _Cas looks good,_ Dean thinks through his daze, daze because Cas is a different life than the one he has, daze because Cas ripped him apart, tore him to shreds and is now standing in front of him, looking as terrified as Dean feels. _No questions asked_ , Dean repeats to himself. 

     Cas’ mind is racing a mile a minute. _Oh God, look at him. He hates me. He has every right to hate me. I should have never come here._ Cas blinks up at Dean, his eyes as green as ever. His heart aches for all that he put Dean through. 

      “I’m so s—” he starts, but Dean interrupts him. 

      “You want to grab a beer?” Dean asks, flashing him a grin that lights up the whole store. Cas’ heart stutters. His whole being stutters. Dean is looking at him expectantly. 

      “Uh,” Cas says, looking around desperately. He can’t do this to Dean. He can’t burst back into his life now that he’s happy after doing what he did and “grab a beer," no matter _how_ much he wants to, no matter how much restraint it takes to keep from jumping Dean's bones right then and there in the middle of the grocery store. Dean’s big grin slips a bit. 

      “Look, Cas,” Dean says, looking down and rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. 

      The light glinting from Dean’s wedding ring catches Cas’ eye, wrapping the coil around his heart even tighter. Dean continues.

      “I know it’s been a while, more than a while actually, ten years.” Dean is nervous. Dean does not think it fair that even after twelve years with him, half a year _with_ him, and ten years without him, Cas still has the ability to make him nervous as fuck. “I know, but I just…” _I’m glad you’re here._ No. _I’ve been thinking about you lately._ Worse. _I never stopped loving you._ Fuck no. “Can we grab a beer?” he asks finally, and Cas understands when Dean pulls a fake smile back up to his lips. 

      Cas watches that smile, those lips. _It’s not fair,_ Cas thinks bitterly. _I’ll never escape him. He will forever be the drug I desperately need, the next hit I can’t live without. I am addicted to him._

      “Say somethin’, Cas,” Dean asks softly, snapping Cas out of his thoughts. 

      “Beers?” Cas asks, his voice gruff, and Dean smiles. 

      “Beers,” he agrees, grinning at Cas like nothing changed. As they each leave the store empty handed, Dean offers a quick heads-up to the manager. “Clean up on aisle six,” he says, and Cas stares. “What?” he asks, a barely-there smile gracing his lips. Cas has missed the sight of that. 

      “You haven’t changed at all,” Cas says in wonder, heart thrumming in his chest. He has missed Dean. Dear God, ten years of repressing what he felt for Dean, ten years of fake smiles and swearing he was whole. He will never be whole without Dean. 

      “Yes. I have,” Dean says, eyes suddenly dark, and Cas blinks. 

      “I know,” he says finally. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean,” but Dean is cutting him off with a forced smile and a shake of his head. 

      “S’okay, Cas. It was a long time ago.” Dean smiles, but Cas knows this man, ten years between them or not, and Cas knows Dean is hurt. 

      “Dean, please,” Cas says, looking at Dean, ignoring the people looking their way. 

      “Cas, let’s not drag up the past, okay?” Dean says, closing his eyes. 

      “We need to talk about it, Dean,” he says, and Dean’s eyes spring open with a mock smile. 

      “I forgive you. You did what you felt you needed to. It’s fine.” Cas takes him in slowly, and Dean stares back, heart aching. Of course he’s hurt. Of course he’s angry, but he told himself no questions asked. He’s not about to go back on that, not when Cas is here, so fucking close. Dean has spent ten years without him, and now Cas is here. He doesn’t want some old grievances to make Cas walk away again. He’s spent ten years without him. He’s not dumb enough to think he can survive another ten, another day, especially not after standing here with him today. 

      “That doesn't make what I did, what I _said_ okay. I—” Cas starts, and again, Dean cuts him off.

      “Cas, it's been ten years. I just want to go have a beer and catch up and not bring this up. This is not the time to have this conversation.” Cas, now looking appropriately shamed, nods, and makes his way out of the door with Dean close on his heels. 

      Dean's whole body, despite the past and the regret, is singing with the closeness of Him. If Dean thought he was buzzed from Sam, he is positively wasted off Cas. He is completely caught up in the moment, in the movement and the pull of Cas, like it’s all he’s ever known. His life between then and now never existed. All that he is, all that he ever will be, is Cas and the smile he tosses back to him when Dean’s hand reaches to open his door. 

      “Thanks,” Cas murmurs, and slides into the front seat of Lydia’s car. Dean watches him, rapt, hating himself for still loving him after ten years. 

      _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ Dean chastises as he walks around to the driver’s side. _He left you. He doesn’t want you. What are you doing? What are you doing? He doesn’t want you anymore_. Dean gets in and Cas smiles. _Fuck._

* * *

      “So, Cas,” Dean says, the miles passing like time beneath the wheels. Dean’s heart is racing _. Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Dean smiles. “Tell me, how have you been?” Cas smiles a bit and picks at the seam of the big, tan trench-coat he’s wearing. 

      _He couldn’t care less,_ Cas thinks. _It’s been ten years. There’s no way he still has feelings for you. You ripped his heart out. He’s married. He’s just being friendly._

      “I’ve been...” Cas falters. What has he even been? The last ten years have been him running from himself. They’ve been nothing. None of it has meant anything without Dean. “I’ve been mundane.” Cas forces a laugh. “You were pretty much the most interesting thing to ever happen to me.” Cas tries to laugh again, but his voice falls flat with truth. Dean blinks, and Cas’ cheeks flame. He averts his eyes. “I’m a teacher now,” he says to cover up his slip. He should be more careful. He spent ten years without Dean. He does not want to make him run now just because a slip of the tongue tells Dean that Cas is nothing without him. That would freak him out. “Molding young minds and all.”

      “Oh yeah? Never pictured you becoming a teacher,” Dean says, smiling a bit at the road ahead. 

      “Why? What did you imagine me doing?” Cas asks, curiosity lit inside of him. It has been years. That is all he can think about. 

      “I don’t know. Stay at home wife?” Dean teases, and Cas snorts in surprise. 

      “Oh really? And what about you, Mr. Mom? A minivan? Really?” Dean laughs, eyes crinkling and stopping Cas’ heart. He was not expecting this playful banter. Dean is nothing like what he expected. He expected anger, and when that didn’t come, perhaps a stone-cold business, but here they are, teasing each other as they drive down the highway towards their next adventure. It feels like nothing has changed between them. Dean is beautiful. 

      “Yeah, yeah, it’s the wife’s. She says Baby is too expensive.” Dean rolls his eyes, and Cas suddenly feels like the outsider again. Dean has this whole life, this whole past Cas knows nothing about because he fucking left. “I think she just knows I look damn good in it,” he teases, bringing Cas back into the present, reminding him that Dean is here now and that there’s nothing between them but the past (and the present, but that is beside the point). 

      When they get to the bar, Dean plops down at a booth far in the back, flags down the waitress to get the beers, and when she walks away after depositing their drinks, the two men are left alone together for the first time in ten years. 

      “So what’s teaching like?” Dean asks, and it begins. They sit there in that tiny booth for nearly six hours, laughing, drinking, reminiscing. It is great, like nothing ever changed, that is, until all the laughter and nostalgia is broken up by Cas’ ringing phone which he silences quickly with a roll of his eyes. “Girlfriend?” Dean asks, not so much because he wants to know who is calling, but because he wants to know if Cas is available, because he wants to know if he is still the person that said Dean was wrong for loving him. His heart clenches. He does not want Cas to be that person. He wants this to be the Cas that kissed him softly, told him he was the only thing good in the world, the Cas who loved him unconditionally, even as a friend. 

      “No. I’m not seeing anyone. It’s just Gabriel. He’s back at the hotel room waiting for me,” Cas says with a roll of his eyes, unbeknownst that he is sending shock waves through Dean’s body. 

      “Well,” Dean says after pushing out a nervous cough. “Do I need to take you back? I don’t want him to worry.” 

      “No, he’s probably annoying your brother, actually,” Cas says with a smile before taking another sip of his beer.

      “Wait. _You two_ are the friends Sammy brought with him?” Dean asks, shocked and incredulous. Cas looks up, eyes wide. 

      “Please don’t be angry,” he begs softly, but Dean shakes his head. 

      “No, I just…why?” and Cas falls silent. “Come on, Cas. You solicited my brother into letting you catch a ride with him all the way to Seattle. The least you can do is tell me why,” Dean teases, pushes with a smile. He does not know what he is asking of Cas. 

      “Well, actually, your brother solicited me into letting him catch a ride to Seattle,” Cas says softly, and Dean’s brows furrow. 

      “I didn’t know you two were even still friends. In fact, he always said he hated you for...” Cas flinches, and Dean’s voice trails off. 

      “We aren’t friends,” Cas replies when he can. “This is the first time I’ve even seen him since I was taken to the clinic.” Cas cannot look at Dean, and the joviality in Dean’s voice is rapidly fading.

      “Then why are you two here together?” he asks, voice more a demand than a question. 

      “It’s nothing, Dean,” Cas says in an attempt to appease Dean’s hostile questioning. 

      “Damn it, Cas. I’m tired of the secrets!” he explodes, and ten years are raining down between them. Dean doesn’t know why he’s so angry. Why Cas is here is his own business, but for Dean, his being here is _hope,_ hard-boiled and clingy and Dean just wants to know if he is being stupid, naïve…

      “I didn’t want to keep it a secret! I tried to tell you why I’m here, but you kept shutting me down, being a stubborn ass and saying we didn’t have to talk about it! So now we’re not!” People are looking. Dean and Cas do not care. They two are the only people in the whole world. The entire damn universe consists of Dean and Cas. 

      “Don’t twist my words around on me like that, Castiel. You know I fucking hate when you do that!” 

      “I’m not twisting your words, _Dean_. You said you didn’t want to talk about it, so we aren’t!”

      “Goddamn it, Cas! Why are you here?!” 

      “Because I fucking love you, okay!?” Cas shouts. His chest heaves, his words hang heavy between them around the stares of the people watching. “It’s been ten goddamn years, and _I fucking love you._ I drove sixteen hundred miles to see you, to see how you were and to maybe…maybe fix things, but then Sam said you were happy! I was so fucking glad that you were happy. I cannot even tell you the weight that lifted off my chest to know that you were truly happy, Dean.” Cas’ voice softens, his eyes fill with tears. He continues after pulling in a shaky breath. 

      “He said you were married. God, you’re _married,_ Dean. You have a _daughter_ and a _wife_ , and I didn’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to fuck your life up again, so I was going to leave. I was going to walk away and be satisfied with the fact that _you were happy_. I wasn’t going to put you through me again…” Dean’s mouth is hanging open slightly. He is shocked. His hope…it is growing faster than ever, bubbling and building until the fact that Cas still loves him is singing through his veins like electricity. “But then I saw you. I saw you, and now we’re here, and I just…" Dean cannot find the words. He takes too long, and Cas' wide eyes lower. "I…I’ll just go…” Cas says finally, sadly as he picks up his jacket and walks away from their tiny booth. Dean is so shell-shocked that all he can do is watch him leave. 

      _He still loves me,_ Dean thinks numbly, that same electricity coursing through his veins. 

      “You just gonna sit there, Romeo?” his waitress calls to him, snapping him out of his trance. 

      “What?” he asks, blinking at her dumbly. She is bent over a table, washcloth in hand as she scrubs it down. 

      “He’s walking away. That really what you want?” she asks before looking back to her table and scrubbing again. Dean blinks. Cas is walking away. Dean nearly knocks over the table in an attempt to run after him. 

      “I’ll be back,” he calls to the waitress, but she rolls her eyes. 

      “Just go,” she calls after him, but he is already out the door. He spots Cas near the highway, ready to walk back to his car and back to his life in Kansas. 

      “Wait, Cas,” Dean shouts, catching his’ attention. Cas turns slowly, his body silhouetted against the battling streetlight and darkness. Dean begins running, doesn't stop until there is a mere handful of inches between them. “I’m married,” he says lamely, and Cas’ hopeful eyes dull a bit. 

      “Yes, Dean,” Cas replies softly. Dean kisses him. Reels him in by the lapels of that damn trench-coat and kisses him like they’ve spent a lifetime apart. To them, they have. Cas melts against Dean, finding those familiar places to put his hands, tugging through Dean’s hair, clutching his shoulders, drawing him closer and closer into the whine of his mouth. Dean licks between Cas’ lips, tearing him apart with the vengeance that comes with ten years of wasted time. Neither seem to mind. They are both trying to get closer, both knowing that it will never be close enough. 

      “Dean,” Cas whimpers when they separate. Dean is shaking. His heart is racing. He is seventeen again, staring into the eyes of the only person he’s ever truly loved. He presses his forehead to Cas’, gulps in huge breaths of him like he we will die if he does not. They are trapped there, the darkness shielding them from the reality that this cannot last forever. 

      Dean’s phone rings in his pocket, slamming the reality back into them. He sighs as he digs it out, forcing himself to part from Cas. He groans when he sees Sam’s name in the caller I.D. 

      “This better be good, bitch,” he growls into the phone, looking down into Cas’ wide eyes. He cannot believe he is here. Ten years later, and they are back. He is back. 

      “Huh? Oh, uh, my ride kinda…well, disappeared? Do you mind picking me up for dinner tonight?” Sam asks, a bit distracted sounding. Dean rolls his eyes. 

      “I am so pissed at you, Sam,” he says instead. 

      “What? Why?” 

      “I’ll send your chauffeur your way,” he says and hangs up. He leans forward and kisses Cas again, cherishing in the feeling. It has been far too long. “Sam wants you to pick him up on your way back to my place.” 

      “We’re going back to your place?” Cas asks with a smirk, his heart slamming in his chest. He cannot believe this is happening. He feels like they’re starting all over, like he’s going to have to convince himself once again that what’s going on between them is real, that he’s not just some passing trend for Dean. 

      “Yes. I’m cooking dinner, and there’s someone I want you to meet.” Dean grins at Cas and pulls away. Dean settles the bill inside to a round of applause from the nosy onlookers before leaving, Cas’ fingers threaded through his. Cas leaves from the grocery store to pick up Sam and Gabe, Dean tucks back inside to get steaks, and they all meet back at Dean’s house. 

      It is strange seeing Cas in his house, like a DC hero being on a Marvel set. It feels wrong, like these two lives should have never collided, and it’s enough to terrify him. Sam sees it. Cas does not, judging by the foot he keeps nudging against Dean’s beneath the dinner table. The whole night is hell, really. Lydia is kind and welcoming, Emma is at Lydia's sister's for the evening, but Dean is too freaked to say or do anything of import. In fact, before he realizes it, dinner is over, and Sam is yawning, saying he needs to get some sleep and asking if Dean would walk them out. 

      Sam is looking to Dean expectantly, but it takes a moment to snap himself out of his trance before he can stand and follow them out. Sam gives Dean a hug, Gabe gives Dean a nod, and both get in the car so that Dean and Cas can have some semblance of privacy. 

      “Your wife is lovely,” Cas says softly, watching Dean's lips because he can. 

      “I was really wanting you to meet Emma," Dean says, putting his hands in his pockets and looking around. He is nervous, caught up in his thoughts. 

      "Some other time," Cas replies easily, stepping a bit closer. 

      "I don’t think we should do this, Cas,” Dean blurts, eyes wide and scared. All he can think about, all that has clouded his thoughts tonight, is Lydia finding out and taking Emma from him. He can’t lose Emma. She is all Dean has, and Cas’ eyes fall. His heart falls. 

      “Why?” he asks softly, voice trembling in even the milliseconds it takes to say that. 

      “I can’t lose Emma, Cas. She means everything to me… I just…I can’t.” Cas blinks and drops his eyes. The disappointment he feels is suffocating.

      “Alright,” he murmurs, because he told himself from the start that he would do whatever Dean needed of him, and if that means walking away, so be it. “I guess this is it then?” he asks, and Dean, heart slamming in defiance beneath the surface of his chest, nods sadly. 

      “Guess so…” he murmurs, and Cas offers him a sad smile. 

      “Goodbye Dean,” Cas says, pushing his hand out for Dean to shake. He will not cry. Not here, not in front of Gabe, in front of Sam…in front of Dean. Dean looks down to his hand and shakes it slowly. He pulls Cas in for a hug. He can’t walk away with a fucking handshake. He’s not sure if he can walk away at all. 

      “It’s not because I don’t love you, Cas,” he whispers in Cas’ ear, clutching him to his chest as tightly as he dares. “I just…” 

      “You love her more,” Cas supplies, clutching Dean just as tightly, even as his voice shakes. “It’s not a crime to love your daughter, Dean,” Cas says when they separate, his eyes stinging with the effort it is taking not to cry. 

      “I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean says, and Cas nods. Then he gets in the car and drives away. Dean’s heart breaks again.

      “Daddy,” Emma asks later as he tucks her in to bed. Dean has been so spaced out since He left that he barely noticed Lydia leaving to get their daughter. 

      “Yes, bug,” Dean says. He is exhausted, physically, emotionally, mentally drained. He just…Cas…Dean doesn’t…He is exhausted, so much so that he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

      “Will you tell me a story?” she asks, flashing him her toothy grin.

      “Pan?” Dean asks, reaching for the well-loved book before she stops him.

      “No, I want a new one.” 

      “Well, we’ve read all the books on your shelf, bug,” Dean says, sitting next to her and wrapping her in his arms. This is what he needs to make sense of his life, holding his child close and telling her bedtime stories. Everything makes sense with her. She snuggles closer, playing with the buttons on his shirt. 

      “Can you make one up?” She asks, grinning up to him, and how can he say no to that face?

      “Sure,” he says, looking up to the ceiling as if inspiration will strike from there, and strangely enough, it does. His heart aches when he begins, but Emma will enjoy the story. “Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there were two boys who were bestest friends in the whole world.”

      “What were their names?” she asks excitedly, and Dean smiles. It’s not as difficult with her as it had been by himself. 

      “Hold all questions ‘til the end please, miss,” he teases, squeezing her side and listening to her giggle. “Their names were Dan and Clarence.” He applauds himself for his subtlety. “So Dan and Clarence were best friends, and they loved each other very much. They grew up laughing and playing and even built their very own treecastle! They spent every day together, and when they were older, Clarence wrote a play. Do you know what a play is, bug?” She nods, still fiddling with his buttons. “So Clarence wrote a play about two boys who were boyfriends.” Emma’s eyes widen. 

      “I didn’t know boys could have boyfriends,” she says, and Dean smiles. 

      “Of course they can, just like girls can have girlfriends. But the people in this story didn’t think boys could have boyfriends either. In fact, they thought it was wrong for a boy to have a boyfriend. They thought it was bad.” Emma furrows her brow, perplexed. 

      “Why did they think that?” 

      “I don’t know, bug…” Emma snuggles closer, her voice small. 

      “Keep going,” so he does. 

      “In Clarence’s play, Dan got to play the main character, so he had to pretend-kiss boys, but when his pretend boyfriend got sick, Clarence had to be Dan’s pretend boyfriend. The play went wonderfully, and everyone cried about how much they loved it, but when it came time for the boyfriends to pretend kiss, Dan kissed Clarence _for real._ " Emma’s eyes widen up at Dean.

      “Did he get in trouble?” she asks, her eyes wide with fear. 

      “Not yet. Everyone except Clarence thought the kiss was pretend, but Clarence got scared and ran away from Dean.”

      “Why was Clarence scared?” 

      “Because he _really_ wanted Dan to kiss him, but he didn’t want to stop being best friends with him. He didn’t want Dan to get in trouble for kissing him. But after Clarence ran away, Dan found him and told him that they would never stop being best friends, that he wouldn’t let them get in trouble. And so they kissed again, and soon, they became real boyfriends, spending every single second together. Their relationship had to be a secret though, because people still thought that boys liking boys was wrong, but Dan and Clarence didn’t mind. They were too in love to mind. They were very, very happy together, that is, until Clarence’s mom came home one day to find them acting like boyfriends together. You remember that most people thought that it was wrong, so when she saw them, she banished Dan from ever seeing Clarence again and locked Clarence away in the top of a tower.”

      “Did Dan go to save him?” she asks, excitedly, and Dean’s heart clenches. 

      “No. Clarence’s mom told Dan’s dad. Dan’s dad was very, very angry, and kicked Dan and his little brother out of the house. Dan didn’t have a way to get to Clarence or even to know where he went. All he could do was wait for Clarence to come home, but when Clarence finally did come home, he was different. The people at the tower he had been locked away in changed him, changed his mind. When he came home, he thought that loving Dan was wrong too. He told Dan he never wanted to see him again, told Dan he never loved him. Dan’s heart was broken. He left everything that night, his home, his dad, his little brother, just to do what Clarence asked and make sure they never saw each other again. 

      “He ran away. He ran halfway across the kingdom to get away from Clarence, and he really thought he had. He went ten years without seeing him. Dan even got married and pooped out a little girl that he loved very, very much.” Emma giggles. “He was able to be happy without Clarence, but then all of a sudden, he saw Clarence again, half a kingdom away from where they started, in the middle of a grocery store, of all the random places. He didn’t know what to do, but Clarence looked as handsome as he’d ever seen him, and Dan realized that he didn’t want Clarence to be angry at him. Dan realized he didn’t want to be angry at Clarence, so he forgave him. He forgave him, and he felt a hundred times better without all the hatred he’d held onto for all those years. 

      “Dan invited him to get sodas together. So they went to get sodas, and Clarence had realized that it wasn’t wrong to love another boy, and he realized that after ten years, he hadn’t stopped loving Dan. So they talked and talked and talked until the moon started to show, but then Dan and Clarence began to fight over something silly, and Clarence got so sad about Dan being mean to him that he walked away. Well, Dan was very sad about Clarence walking way, so he ran after Clarence…and kissed him.” Emma giggles softly next to him. 

      “I knew they would,” she says, and Dean smiles. He had not known they would. He had been so fucking shocked when Cas’ lips were suddenly on his that he hardly recognized that he’d initiated the kiss. 

      “You’re smart,” he says softly, running his fingers through her soft child-like hair. “But they couldn’t kiss forever. They had talked for so long earlier that by the time Dan finally kissed Clarence, Dan had already missed dinner with his family, and they were calling worried about him. So they went back to Dan’s family, and seeing Clarence with Dan’s wife, well, it made him realize that it was wrong, being with Clarence when he has a family and a home and people who love him.” 

      “So what did he do?” Emma asks, looking up to Dean with wide eyes. 

      “He told Clarence they couldn’t be together. He told Clarence that he would always love him, but his family was too important to him to risk losing,” Dean says, still brushing her hair back. 

      “Then what,” she asks with a yawn. 

      “Well,” he says, “That was the end. Clarence left and Dan lived happily ever after with his wife and child." Emma opens her eyes unhappily at him.

      “That’s not the end,” she complains grumpily. “Dan and Clarence have to get married,” she says, matter-of-factly. That was about as far as Dean had gotten, so he hands her the reins. 

      “So what do you think Dan should do?” She snuggles closer, eyes drooping shut again. 

      “Does he still love Clarence?” she asks finally and yawns again. 

      “Yes,” Dean says, his heart racing. 

      “Then he should go find him. No one should have to be away from the person they love,” she says, snuggling closer to him. “Thanks for the story, Daddy,” she says, and the next thing Dean knows, she is asleep, snoring softly, fingers twitching against his shirt as she dreams. He lays there with her for a while, heart thrumming in his chest, until he decides that she is right. He should not have to be without Cas, especially since Cas still wants him. He shifts her tiny body away from him, kisses her forehead, and picks up his _own damn keys_ on the way out. 

      “Dean,” Lydia says, freezing him in the threshold with her the sound of her voice, cold and alert though it is nearly three in the morning. “Where are you going?” 

      “Damn it,” Dean hisses under his breath. She had likely fallen asleep on the couch again, and he woke her up in his escape. “Sorry, Lyd,” he says, bending to kiss her forehead. “Sammy called, needs me to come get him.” The lie rolls off his tongue easily. She settles back into the cushions, and he is gone, out the door before he can change his mind.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut shall ensue;)

     Driving back to Him is nothing. It is a single heartbeat, the flash of a camera, one instant indiscernible from the next. It is the space between one word and the next. Dean blinks, and it is gone. He blinks, and he is there at the motel, fist slamming against Sam’s door because he doesn’t know which one is Cas’. Sam comes out almost as soon as the banging starts sporting eyes wild and hair rumpled.

     “Dean? What’s wrong?” he asks, voice immediately concerned. Dean shakes his head. 

     “Where is he?” he asks, and Sam rolls his eyes, his rigid posture falling back into exhaustion as the adrenaline fades out of him. 

     “Jesus Christ, Dean. What time is it?” Sam asks in exasperation, running a hand through his ratty hair, smoothing it slightly. Dean doesn’t mind. He doesn’t even notice. 

     “Late. I need to see him, Sam.” Sam grunts and points to the door next to his, upon which, Dean’s fists begin pounding away at the wood, heart racing in his chest. 

     “You two need to stop meeting like this,” Sam grunts before going back into his room and shutting the door. Dean does not hear him, all he hears is his heart slamming, his fist slamming, the world slamming. _How long has it been?_ Dean manages to wonder as he beats. _It feels like it’s been a lifetime. Oh God, maybe he left. Please God, don’t let him have left,_ but then door swings open, Gabe’s clearly ticked face staring up at him.

     “What in _God’s_ name could you _possibly_ want at three twenty-one in the morning?” Gabe hisses, and behind him, Cas is blinking away sleep, his hair a mess, sticking up on one side. 

     He looks beautiful to Dean, so much so that before another word can be spoken, Dean is pushing past Gabe, shoving his way into the room so that he can fall on his knees next to Cas and take his face in his hands, thumbs brushing over the two-day stubble. 

     “Dean, wha—” Cas starts, but Dean cuts him off. 

     “I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his forehead to Cas’. Cas’ hands come up to hook around his wrists, and his eyes cross in the effort of trying to comprehend what’s happening through his cloud of sleep. Cas never was a morning person. 

     “Oh, God,” Gabe groans in disgust. He leaves, slamming the door behind him. 

     “Am I dreaming?” Cas asks slowly, earning a chuckle from Dean. 

     “No,” Dean says, stretching forward and kissing Cas softly. When he manages to make himself pull away, Cas looks a little more awake than before. Dean is sure that Cas can feel his heartbeat slamming away in his veins. “No, I’m so sorry, Cas.”

     “Dean, what are you talking about?” Cas asks, running his thumb gently over the soft skin of Dean’s wrist. 

     “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He is overwhelmed with it all. It’s over for him. He could not separate himself from Cas now if he tried, not that he would. He is content to lay in Cas forever, perfect silence around them. “I was wrong. I said it wasn’t right, you and me, that I couldn’t risk Emma, but Lydia doesn’t have to know. Right, Cas? God, I’m so sorry. I thought you left, and I just would have…God I don’t even want to think about it. I was wrong. Please, Cas. I—”

     “Shhh, Dean. I was never angry. I wasn’t even hurt, really. Sad, maybe, but _never_ angry. I understood, understand. I told myself from the very beginning I was just here to apologize, never to try to win you back, unless it was explicitly clear that you wanted it.” A moment passes, Cas staring at Dean. “Is that what you want, Dean?” he asks softly, and Dean scoffs. 

     “Do you even have to ask?” Dean asks with a smile, one that Cas does not immediately return. 

     “Yes,” he says seriously. “I can’t just weasel my way back into your life, Dean. I _broke_ your heart. I need to know you want this, that you can forgive me.”

     “Cas, please. Of course I want this.”

     “But can you forgive me?”

     “I already told you that I forgive you.”

     “Dean, I never even got to apolo—” 

     “It doesn’t matter, Cas,” Dean interrupts, his voice hot because he doesn’t want to do this. “It was a long time ago.”

     “Of _course_ it matters, Dean!” Dean lets out an exasperated sigh and presses his forehead back against Cas’. Cas is right. Of course it matters, but Dean can’t do it. He can’t remember what happened all those years ago and still be _here_ , close to Cas in the way he so desperately needs to be. 

     “I want this, Cas. I don’t want to be without you anymore. I spent ten years pretending I was fine without you, pretending I didn’t love you, and I don’t want to do it anymore. I can’t.” Cas closes his eyes, breathes in Dean, Dean, Dean. He doesn’t think he can love Dean the way he deserves to be loved until Dean _truly_ forgives him. So on the exhale, Cas lets himself believe that he does. He breathes out the remorse and the sorrow, and once the last of it passes through his lips, he tilts his head those last few inches and lets himself press his lips to Dean’s. 

     They start slow. After all, it’s been ten years, and there is a lot of lost time to make up for. They start by making themselves familiar again with the other’s mouth, licking and groaning and moaning and only stopping to breathe long enough to assure them both that this is real, that after ten years of wrong and ten years of _alone,_ they are finally right here together, right where they belong. 

     Desperate lips soon become wandering hands, and before long, they are each tugging at the other's clothes, breath hot and familiar on necks and lips and thighs. Cas is hard and trembling by the time that Dean’s fingers are slipping beneath the elastic of Cas’ boxers.

     “You okay, Cas?” Dean asks, looking up from where his lips have been brushing against Cas’ navel. What he really means is, _is this okay?_ Cas lets out a shaky breath somewhere between a whimper and a laugh as he brings a hand up to his forehead. 

     “This is…” Cas rubs at his eyebrows to hide his hands shaking and heart slamming against his ribcage. “This is crazy.” He props up on his elbows to look at Dean, Dean, whose lips are swollen by Cas’ demanding kiss, Dean, whose hands rest on Cas’ hips waiting for permission to go farther, Dean, who Cas has loved since he was six. “Keep going,” he says finally, dropping back against his pillow with a rush of air from his lips. Dean smiles softly, presses a kiss to just below Cas’ belly button, and slides Cas’ boxers down and down until they are tossed to the floor and Dean’s lips are pressing to Cas’ bare hip. 

     “I’m gonna be so good to you, Cas,” Dean whispers, kissing and licking there next to Cas’ hips while Cas struggles to even his breathing. “So good,” he murmurs again, before nosing his way down the length of Cas’ dick. 

     It’s been years, and still, Cas is shaky at the heat of a mouth on his cock, made exponentially worse by the fact that it is _Dean_ staring up at him as he laps at the head. Dean’s hands grip Cas’ hips, not that he’d be going anywhere otherwise, and Cas is rapt. He is watching those soft, pink lips take him down again and again, watching _Dean._ It is _Dean_ here with him, and that fact alone has Cas groaning in no time, propping back up on his elbows so he can thread a hand through Dean’s hair. 

     “Look at me,” Cas requests, and as soon as the words leave his lips, Dean’s eyes flick up to him, big and green and frenzied. He holds Cas’ eyes from then on, swiping his tongue along the underside of Cas’ cock and pulling back to lap at the head. Cas is falling to pieces, whimpering and begging. He is not at all above begging, especially when Dean removes a hand from his hips to fondle his balls. “Dean, please,” Cas whimpers, and Dean pulls slowly off, eyes still locked on Cas’.

     “What is it?” he asks softly, lips brushing the head of Cas’ prick with every enunciation. 

     “I want to come with you,” Cas replies, voice broken and shaking. Dean watches Cas a moment longer before pulling off his boxers and moving up the length of Cas’ body, hard cock dragging along Cas the whole way. “I see you’ve still got a thing for sucking dick,” Cas comments, a cheeky grin on his face to cover how desperately he needs Dean. 

     “Shut up,” Dean says with a smile and a burn of his cheeks. Then he kisses Cas, hot and heavy and desperate with one arm wound beneath Cas’ back and the other fumbling with the lotion on the bedside table because neither had the foresight to bring lube. Cas is kissing, licking, sucking against Dean’s neck, so much so that Dean’s hands tremble and fumble and make it absolutely impossible to get the lotion where it needs to be. “Cas,” Dean pulls away with a groan. “If you want to finish what we’ve started, I’m gonna need to you to stop doing that for like two seconds.” Cas grins at Dean before leaning forward and kissing him softly. 

     “Whatever you want, Dean,” he whispers, brushing his lips against Dean’s once again, and when Dean pulls away, he manages to get a handful of lotion smeared across both of their dicks. Cas hisses at the cold, and Dean kisses his neck in apology. Soon enough, Cas is back to his nibbling, and Dean begins tugging, hand tight around them both. It doesn’t take long, what with Cas having been brought so close to the edge moments before and Dean knowing he wasn’t just sucking a cock down his throat, but that it was _Cas._ Soon, they are both panting, writhing into the other, a hand from each wrapped together around their dicks. 

     “Cas,” Dean hisses, the heat inside of him coiling tighter and tighter as Cas’ breath pants against his neck. 

     “I’m right here, Dean,” Cas reminds breathlessly, a hand tugging gently at Dean’s hair to get him to look at him. Dean is so close that all it takes is Cas’ eyes locking with his to push him over that edge. He comes with his forehead pressed against Cas’, and Cas follows seconds later, spilling hot and thick as he cries Dean’s name. 

     As they ride off their high, they remain pressed close, skin sticking to the other with sweat and come. Cas finally unwinds his fingers from Dean’s, letting their now limp dicks fall to Cas’ stomach, drawing a whimper out of them both. They just lie there and breathe for a while, then Cas laughs a bit. 

     “That was…” he starts, but there are no words left. 

     “Guess sucking dick isn’t something you forget how to do,” Dean replies with a grin, pressing a kiss to Cas’ shoulder. 

     “Like riding a bike, huh?” Cas teases, grinning as Dean laughs, falling beside him and wrapping an arm around his side and pulling Cas close. 

     “Just like riding a bike,” he agrees, and they lie there for a while, kissing and murmuring to each other until both are right on the edge of sleep. The words slip out of Cas before he can tell them otherwise

     “Why’d you leave?” he asks, eyes resting closed with Dean’s arm around him. Dean’s fingers run absently through Cas’ hair, lulling them both in their post-coital bliss into a hazy reality. 

     “What do you mean?” he asks, and Cas pushes closer to Dean to keep him from pulling away. 

     “When we broke up, why did you leave home?” As Cas’ voice fades, Dean stills, his heart slamming in his chest. 

     “There was nothing left for me,” he says finally, fingers still in Cas’ hair. 

     “What about Sam?”

     “He needed college.”

     “Bobby?”

     “We’d been living with Dad again.”

     “Why?”

     “Because I’m dumb.”

     “What about him, then?”

     “What _about_ the drunk and abusive bastard?” 

     “I was there,” Cas murmurs finally, and Dean snorts, thinking that surely Cas is joking. When he continues, Dean sees that no, Cas was not joking at all. “I’m serious. I never wanted you to leave. You were still my best friend.” 

     “You said you didn’t love me anymore. I couldn’t have been around you even if I’d believed that was what you wanted. I’m self-loathing, not a fucking masochist.” Dean falls short of concealing his anger, but, _forgive him, no matter what,_ he reminds himself, even as Cas flinches away from his words.

     “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, and Dean closes his eyes. After Dean’s heartbeat returns to normal and the anger has drained away, replaced by the overjoyed reminder that Cas is here, Dean continues his lazy brushes through Cas’ hair until he falls asleep, his palm pressed against Dean’s beating heart. Dean follows close behind, pressing a kiss to Cas’ hair with a soft smile before falling into the dark abyss.

     For the first time in ten years, Dean wakes up holding in his arms the person he loves most. He smiles, heart heating his veins with love. Sappy, but who gives a fuck? Cas is there in his arms, so he smiles and runs his hands gently over Cas’ back because he’s missed the smooth stretch of skin. He lies there, exponentially happy with Cas in his arms until Cas groans a bit, smiles, eyes still closed and presses a kiss against Dean’s chest. He lets out a contented sigh and hugs Dean closer. 

     “Good morning,” Dean says softly, wrapping an arm behind his head so that he can prop up and see Cas more clearly. Cas grunts softly and cuddles beneath Dean’s arm, beneath his chin. 

     “Good morning, Dean,” Cas murmurs, his lips brushing the base of Dean’s throat. He pulls back and presses a kiss to Dean’s lips, a smile passed between the two of them. 

     “God, I’ve missed this,” Dean says on exhale as Cas pulls away. He is giddy on Cas, high on his taste, his scent, his existence. 

     “What? Morning breath?” Cas asks with a snort, earning himself a grin and a kiss from Dean. 

     “No, you dork. I miss _this,_ you, us.” Dean stares down at Cas gooily, and Cas stares back. 

     “We’re here,” Cas says finally, spreading his palms along the flat of Dean’s skin. Dean _feels_ him, lives in the contact until Cas’ lips press against his collarbone. “We’re here now.” Dean stares at Cas for a moment longer, his heart pounding in his chest. 

     “I love you,” Dean whispers finally, voice just as soft as the very first time. Cas offers Dean a small smile. 

     “You’re already in my pants, Dean. You don’t have to say that,” he replies, just as Dean had all those years ago. Dean grins and stares up at the ceiling. 

     “God, we were so young,” Dean comments, his fingers brushing along the knobs in Cas’ spine. 

     “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t real,” Cas counters softly, his lips pressing against Dean’s cheek. Dean smiles, his eyes still on the ceiling.

     “I know,” he says simply. “It was something, wasn’t it, Cas? We were something.” 

     “We were everything.” A long moment passes. Dean feels whole with Cas. “I’m sorry for the past ten years. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but I’m sorry for stealing these ten years from you...” Dean doesn’t want to relive the emptiness that followed him around for the past ten years. Cas is here. 

     “We’re here now,” Dean says in reply. “And they weren’t all wasted. They gave me Emma, and she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Cas smiles. 

     “I’m happy for you, Dean.” Another moment passes. 

     “Were _you_ happy, Cas? Back home, after I left?” Dean asks finally, his heartbeat a deafening drum in Cas’ ears. Dean isn’t sure if he truly wants to hear the answer.

     “I thought I was,” Cas says at last, his own heart beating loudly. “I had a nice job, a nice house, a nice life…It was pretty perfect…but I was all alone. There was no one, for ten years. I mean, there were one-night stands and even a girl I thought I was on the road to marrying, but I was kidding myself…” Cas pauses and brings his eyes up to Dean’s. “You’re it for me,” he replies softly, and the warmth rushing through Dean’s veins begins to boil. 

     “We’re here now,” he replies finally, and it becomes their mantra, their justification for existing and continuing like they do. Cas smiles, and presses his lips back against Dean’s. 

     They lay there in bed for a while longer, kissing and laughing and touching, until Sam calls him asking where they are. Dean grins down to Cas. 

     “We’re next door. Give me ten minutes.” Dean looks down to Cas, his swollen lips and sex-mussed hair. “Make it twenty,” he says before ending the call and tossing his phone to the adjoining bed. He gives Cas a devilish grin before moving close. 

     When they reemerge thirty-five minutes later with wide eyes and dopey grins, Cas refuses to let go of Dean’s hand. Dean doesn’t really mind. It makes him feel seventeen years old, like the world is once again at his fingertips. Sam opens the door, bitchface in full swing. 

     “Dude, who pissed in your cheerios?” Dean asks with a smirk. 

     “That would be me,” Gabe pipes from inside. He appears a moment later with his hair a mess, hands in his pockets, and shirt probably back in his own room. “I’m great at fucking shit up,” he mutters, cutting Sam a short look before stepping around Dean and Cas. “Congrats, Cas,” he says before leaving, going back to his own room, rubbing the back of his neck absently. They watch him until the door shuts behind him and Dean and Cas turn to Sam for an explanation. 

     “Don’t look at me,” he says defensively, cheeks dark and red. “He’s the one who pissed in _my_ Cheerios, not the other way around.” They both scrutinize him for a second longer before they shrug and enter Sam’s room. The place is a mess, empty pizza boxes and clothes strung about everywhere. 

     “You’ve turned into a slob, Sammy,” Dean teases, tossing aside a pair of underwear so he can sit. Cas stands behind him, his hands resting on Dean’s shoulders. 

     “Yeah, yeah,” Sam counters, sitting down on his bed and dropping his head into his hands. “Why are you here?” he asks, snapping his head up suddenly and staring at the couple. 

     “ _You_ called _me,_ little brother,” Dean reminds, holding his palms up to Sam’s slightly aggressive manner.

     “Oh yeah…” Sam says and looks away. “Sorry, rough night.”

     “I can tell. You know it’s liquor before beer right, bro?” Dean teases lightly, scanning his face for any signs of real trouble. 

     “Yeah, Dean. I’m in the clear,” Sam responds with a roll of his eyes. “I just…Nevermind. I just wanted to remind you that Emma and Lydia are probably going to be worried pretty soon. It’s almost noon.” Dean sighs, feels Cas’ hands tighten on his shoulders, and stands. 

     “You’re right,” he says and turns to give Cas a soft smile. “Let me go see my girl for a bit, and then I’ll take you out on the town. How does that sound?” Cas smiles widely.

     “I’d love that.”

     “Hey, what about me?” Sam asks in a voice that’s both whiney and frantic. 

     “You’ve got Gabriel to keep you company,” Dean says with a wink. 

     “Don’t remind me,” he grumbles before Dean shuts the door between them. 

     When Dean gets back to his house, Lydia is waiting, her back rigid with annoyance. Emma, however, runs straight to Dean, jumps up into his arms and clutches him with her arms and her legs.

     “I missed you, Daddy,” she says, her voice chipper in the mid-morning. She hasn’t changed out of her pajamas yet, but her hair is pulled back with a big green bow, a short, choppy bit falling down by her ear. 

     “I was only gone for a few hours, bug,” he tells her with a grin, hugging her back against him, his arms wrapping back around to his own elbows as he holds her. 

     “Yeah, but you missed waffles!” She says excitedly, pulling back to grin at him. 

     “Tell Dad what you did,” Lydia says from the kitchen, her voice cold. Dean cuts her a glance before looking back to Emma. Her little face has fallen to shame. 

     “I got gum stuck in my hair. Mommy had to cut it out,” she murmurs ashamedly; Dean cuts his look back to Lydia, and he looks at her while he speaks. 

     “That’s okay, Emmie. Accidents happen,” he says, still staring at Lydia. Lydia’s eyes harden. Emma perks up a bit, and Dean hugs her back to him. Lydia doesn’t say anything. “How about you and me go to the park?” he asks her, and she jumps excitedly.

     “Yes, Daddy,” she cheers, pulling back to plant a sloppy, sticky kiss on his cheek. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” and Dean grins at her. 

     “I love you too, bug. Why don’t you go get dressed?” He puts her down, and she runs off toward her room, half skipping all the way down. 

     “I don’t appreciate this, Dean Winchester,” Lydia snarls when Emma is out of earshot. “She makes a mess and you reward her for it.”

     “She makes a mess, and you punish her for being a kid,” Dean bites back, staring at her. Normally, he would not have spoken out against her, but he is feeling wild off Cas, brave from His lingering smell, the ghost of His touch. 

     “What kind of mixed signals do you think this is sending her?” she snaps, and Dean rolls his eyes. 

     “Lighten up, Lydia. It’s just hair. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it grows back.” Lydia opens her mouth to retort back, but before she can, Emma comes running back into the room, her pants a shade too pink to really match her shirt, green bow entirely out of place, and socks not even the same length. Dean grins. “Ready?” he asks her, and she nods excitedly. “We’ll be back later,” he tells Lydia, swinging his daughter up onto his hip and leaving. 

     “Daddy,” Emma asks softly when they are alone in the car. “Does Mommy hate me?” Dean’s throat closes up a little. 

     “No, Emma,” he tells her softly, staring at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “She absolutely does not hate you.” He, however begins to hate his wife right then and there for putting this fear into their daughter. Emma should never feel anything but loved, especially by her own parents. “And you know how much I love you, right, baby?” Emma nods from the back. 

     “To the moon and stars and back a million times,” she says, a small smile growing on her face. Dean nods, his smiling mirroring hers. 

     “To the moon and stars and back a million times,” he confirms, and he does. He’d give everything for his daughter. 

     Their afternoon at the park is therapeutic for the both of them. Emma runs around playing with the other kids and Dean sits on a bench watching her, a satisfaction growing in his soul. He finds himself thinking of Cas, wondering if Emma will like him, wondering how they will get along, wondering if he will love her as much as Dean does. He finds himself edging Lydia out of their little family and replacing her with Cas, and the thought makes him very, very happy. When the sun begins to fall, Dean corrals Emma back into his car and straps her into the car seat. By the time they hit the highway, Zeppelin playing softly through the speakers, Emma has begun snoring softly in the backseat, and Dean can’t blame her. She’s had a big day. 

     After dropping Emma back off at the house, carrying her inside and putting her to bed with a kiss and an extra blanket to fight off the chill in her room, Dean heads back out for Cas. He doesn’t speak to Lydia.


	15. Chapter 15

     When Dean shows up at his motel room after spending his afternoon with Emma, Cas’ heart speeds to double time. He stands at the window watching as Dean steps out and approaches his door. When he knocks, Cas flings the door open, grins, and locks the door behind him. Cas soon finds himself in the middle of Baby’s front bench, his hand resting against the warm and soft spot between Dean’s thighs. He keeps stealing glances at Dean from the corner of his eyes, and in his peripherals, he would swear that Dean is smiling. Cas knows the feeling. 

     “I love you too, by the way,” Cas murmurs, his thumb running along the seam of Dean’s blue jeans. Now when Cas braves a look over to Dean, there is definitely a soft smile gracing those lips. 

     “I wondered,” Dean says after a moment. 

     “Don’t ever doubt it, Dean,” Cas replies, squeezing Dean’s thigh again before turning away, and Dean is glad he looks away. Having Cas here, kissing him, his hand resting mindlessly between his thighs…it makes him feel seventeen again, seventeen and in love and invincible, but Cas saying things like “never doubt it" opens a darkness in Dean that does nothing but remind him that there are ten years between him and Cas, ten years that won’t go away, for better or for worse, and for sure until they talk about it. 

     Dean doesn’t want to though. He doesn’t want to drag the past back up, doesn’t want to risk saying something he regrets and driving Cas away, doesn’t want to risk reminding Cas why he left in the first place. They have been given a second chance, and Dean will not do anything to risk it. Besides, he can handle the sadness the years apart left him with. (By handle, of course, he means ignore.) 

     When they make it into the city, Cas begins staring out the window, eyes wide with a childlike wonder. He is taking it all in, the tall of the city, the shine of the buildings. He smiles a bit, and Dean wants to take him to Spain, Poland, Zimbabwe, Palestine, Thailand. He wants Cas to see it all, and he wants to be there to marvel at Cas’ wonder. 

     For now though, all he can afford is the Space Needle, Chihuly Garden, that burger place on the edge of sixty-seventh, and Cas marvels at them all like he’s seeing the secret to the world’s wonder. Dean marvels at him. He doesn’t touch him; they are too public for that, but God does Dean marvel. His heart slams against his ribcage, and every time he looks at Cas, he is slammed with that same pressing need to hold him close right then and there, fuck anyone who might see. 

     Of course, he doesn’t. He’s too afraid that the snarky barista eyeing them is friends with Lydia, or that the man walking a little too close behind them is Emma’s teacher. This paranoia makes sure that, while Cas is close, he is not _nearly_ close enough.

      Eventually, after they have seen the city, eaten the food and swallowed the coffee (because Cas is cliché as fuck), their day comes to an end, and Dean is left with a cold question aching in chest.

     “How long are you staying?” Dean asks, and it is not easy to do. It only recently occurred to him that, though Cas is here, he may not stay forever. Cas has his own life, one he’s sure to go back to eventually, despite _this._

     “How long do you want me to stay?” Cas asks softly, and Dean’s heart slams once, twice, and again. 

     “I don’t want you to go,” he says finally, because it’s easier than saying _forever. Forever_ would scare him away. 

     An eternity passes.

     “Okay,” Cas murmurs finally, reaching out and brushing his thumb over Dean’s stubble, and that is the end of it. When Cas returns to his motel room later that night, he begins looking for apartments. He does not want to be separated from Dean, and if Dean doesn’t want him to go, he’ll stay. 

     Gabe, however, is none too happy with the idea. 

     “What do you mean, _you're not leaving_?” he hisses, watching as Cas loads up his clothes to wash for the second time. He will do laundry in his boxers and undershirt because he did not pack clothes in his mad dash to get to Dean. 

     “I’m not leaving,” Cas repeats wistfully, a smile on his face. 

     “You’re not leaving? You're not leaving.” Gabe mimics him, his voice first incredulous and soon exasperated. “What about your apartment?” 

     “Sell it.”

     “Your dog?”

     “Anna’s watching him.”

     “Forever?”

     “I’ll pick him up when I pick up my things.” 

     “Where you gonna stay, Cas?” Gabe asks, exacerbated by his little brother. Gabe has been pissy all day, but Cas is untouchable. “In the motel? With Dean? He’s fucking _married,_ Cas!” 

     “Do you think I am unaware of that fact?” Cas replies, his voice low and clipped to match Gabriel’s. “It's a bad situation, Gabe; we all know it, but I can't, no, I _won’t_ lose him, not again. As long as he’ll have me, I’m not leaving.” Gabe stares Cas down, his eyes narrowed until he sighs and breaks his fighting posture into one of defeat. 

     “Fine. I’ll get my things when you go home,” he says and turns away, done with the subject.

     “Wait. What do you mean ‘get your things’?” Cas asks, excitement growing in him. 

     “You know what I mean, Cas,” Gabe says tiredly, turning back to lock eyes with Cas. He looks exhausted. “I’m not going to let you stay here in this _foreign city_ to court some _married_ man _alone_.”

     “He’s not just some—you know what? Never mind. Thank you, Gabriel.”

     “Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna go eat,” he says, rolling his eyes and leaving, slamming the door behind him. Cas smiles after his brother for a moment before putting his clothes aside and picking up the phone. By the next day, Cas is the renter of an apartment plenty big for him and Gabe, as well as any…friends…they might decide to invite over. Cas is happy. He feels light and free and invincible. 

     Even when he has to tell Dean goodbye, he knows it is not forever. Goodbye has never been permanent for them; even the first one, the big one. Dean however, Dean is not convinced that if he even lets Cas out of his sight, he’ll return. The first goodbye, the big one, left Dean scarred and crippled. He clings to Cas too tightly, but Cas does not mind. He clings right back. 

     “You'd better come back,” Dean threatens as they hug goodbye, voice shaking too much to sound stern. 

     “I’ll be back in a few days,” Cas promises softly, his hand curled around the back of Dean’s neck with fingers that scrape against Dean’s skull. Their hips press together in their embrace, but they each want the other closer. No matter how close they get, there always seems to be the distance of ten years between them, and it is always enough to leave the pair cold. Cas presses his lips to Dean’s shoulder to push away the frost and the past. 

     “You better,” Dean mumbles, and Cas laughs a bit before forcing himself to let Dean go. Gabe and Sam are already in the car, so Cas joins them and begins the twenty-six-hour drive back with an ache in his heart. It takes the same amount of time as the last, and again, they take the drive in shifts. Cas _still_ does not envy Sam or Gabe their turn as Cas sleeps, especially with the heavy silence that has been pressing down on them since that previous morning. Cas doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to know, so when Sam drives and Gabe swears he’ll keep him awake, Cas closes his eyes and sleeps. 

     He wakes up in Wyoming, a knot in his neck the size of a ping pong ball. He groans as he sits up, and Gabe immediately starts in on him. 

     “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he sneers. He is driving, and Sam is asleep on the passenger seat window. 

     “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Cas asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he motions to Sam. 

     “I’ve been shoving down thin mints for the past two hours,” he replies, gathering up the wrappers and tossing the handful back at Cas. He grumbles and shakes them off onto the floorboard with the rest of their chip, candy, drink and other assorted snack wrappers. Cas is _definitely_ making Gabe clean his car when they get back to Seattle. For now though, he merely yawns and tells Gabe to pull over.

     He takes the next shift and drives them straight onto Sceadan Street, where they deposit Sam with a heartfelt thanks from Cas and a mere glance from Gabe. Soon enough, they are back to Cas’ house and the cold that has surrounded him for ten years. He cringes. 

     Steve the Dog meets him at the door, jumping and barking and being generally dog-like in his excitement to see Cas. Cas grins and accepts his many dog kisses, even goes so far as to scratch behind his ears. 

     “Thank God,” someone calls from behind the kitchen as Cas drops his bags. Anna appears a moment later, copper hair tied back in a messy knot, red wine filling a glass in her hand. “I thought I was gonna be stuck with your hellhound for eternity.” She grins at him before setting down her glass and wrapping him in a hug. 

     “Steve is _not_ a hellhound. He is a pomsky, and he is adorable.” 

     “It has been far too long, big brother,” she murmurs into his shirt, and Cas knows. It has likely been seven months. The past ten years shoved a wedge between Castiel and his siblings. But now, _Castiel_ is gone, _Cas_ is back, and Anna _loves_ Cas. 

     “I’m here too, Annie,” Gabe sneers, and she departs from Cas to roll her eyes at Gabriel. 

     “Please, Gabe. You’ve been living on my couch for weeks,” she says, offering him nothing but the unpitying look on her face. Cas snorts. 

     “Why have you been living on her couch?” he asks, but Gabriel just shrugs. 

     “Lost my job. Thought I’d take a crack at bumming.” Cas snorts again. 

     “Gabe, you’ve got money coming out of your ass. You don’t need a job.”

     “Just because I’m loaded doesn’t mean that I want to spend all of my free time at home alone. So. I’m coming to Seattle,” he says to Cas. “And I’m moving off your couch,” he says to Anna. They both snort. 

     Cas spends the day packing up his things. His new apartment is furnished, so he tears down his old bed, his old dressers, his old couches and tables, and puts them in a storage unit. Strange how a life, a whole damn world, can fit in a 10 by 10 room under the protection of a padlock. Cas takes the key and leaves his old life there in that storage unit. Gabriel waits in the car, and when he returns, they go back to Cas’ old home. That night, they sleep on the floor between blankets and pillows, and Cas, the next morning, folds them all up and tucks them in the trunk for their new home in Seattle. 

     “You ready, Cas?” Gabe asks after a few moments of staring around his now empty living room. 

     “This place has been my home for ten years,” he tells Gabe, smiling a bit. “It saw Steve as a puppy; it saw Hannah come and go. It saw college and grad-school.” Cas stares at the empty room, empty walls, empty space. Gabe stands beside him, surveying the emptiness. “It’s seen everything I’ve been since Dean left.” Gabe watches him carefully, expecting him to cry or to hurt. “Good riddance,” Cas deems finally, shutting the door behind him on his way out.

* * *

     When they get to Sam’s, Cas is being pulled inside to help drag Sam’s dresser out and into Sam’s already loaded vehicle before he can open his mouth to say hello. 

     “What are you doing?” Cas asks as Sam tosses boxes in the backseat atop his blankets. 

     “I’m packing my things,” he says dryly. 

     “Yes, but why?” 

     “I’m gonna live with you,” he replies, a blush creeping into his cheeks despite his best efforts. Gabe snorts, and the blush heightens. Even so, Cas shrugs, and they help Sam load the last of his things before setting out for Anna’s. She insisted on accompanying them to Seattle so Cas’ new apartment could have a “woman’s touch.” Cas thinks she is simply dead-set on seeing Dean and roughing him up about the years they spent apart. With this in mind, he pulls her aside before they depart and talks to her in a low and conspiratorial voice. 

     “I know what you’re doing,” he tells her, and her eyes widen comically in her “innocence.”

     “What do you mean?” she asks, brushing her hair back from her face. 

     “It’s a bad situation, Anna. He’s doing all he can; we all are.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he shakes his head. “I’m just saying. I know you’re going to yell at him, try to hurt him for how you think he hurt me, but you’re wrong. What happened to me was my own fault. _I_ hurt _him,_ not the other way around.” Her fiery eyes drop a bit, but Cas just smiles. “I know you love me, Anna, and I love you, but I love him too. We’re all trying, doing everything we know to do to make a bad situation better.” Anna drops her eyes, and Cas, seeing that he’s won, kisses her cheek. 

     The drive back is excruciating. It takes an eternity, and Cas is so eager to get back to Dean that the miles stretch on for days, weighing thousands of pounds on Cas’ shoulders. When they stop in Wyoming so Anna and Sam do not have to drive the next twelve hours without at least a few hours of sleep, Cas puts Gabe out at the motel and drives a bit until the city lights fade and he is able to park in silence and darkness. The phone rings three times before He answers, voice thick with sleep and concern.

     “Yeah?” He asks, and the weight Cas has been carrying around for the past three days slips away in the light of His voice. Cas smiles a bit.

     “Hey, Dean,” he whispers, and a great shuffle falls from the other end of the line. 

     “Cas?” Dean asks after a moment, after a door opens and shuts and the sound of the night replaces the sound of the fan Dean always sleeps with. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

     “I’m good, Dean; everything’s fine. I just…I missed you.” Cas’ voice softens, and all at once, he sees Dean’s face, those eyes and that smile. 

     “I miss you too, Cas,” Dean says softly, a soft smile filling his voice. Cas warms from the tip of his nose to the soles of his feet, and the feeling is so foreign that he laughs.

     “What?” Dean asks, that grin still playing with his voice. 

     “Nothing, it’s nothing. I just…I can’t believe we’re back _here,_ flirting like teenagers through the phone.”

     “Hey, watch it buddy. Can’t a guy say he misses you without you automatically jumping to the conclusion that it’s flirting?” Cas snorts, that grin still playing with his lips. 

     “I’m glad I got to hear your voice.” 

     “That’s because I sound like a choir of angels,” he says, and Cas can picture him. He can see him sitting on the hood of Baby, staring up at the stars with a hand behind his head and a grin on his lips. 

     “My you’re cocky,” Cas teases, a grin on his lips. 

     “You love it,” Dean replies, and Cas nods.

     “I do. I really do.” Cas imagines Dean’s smile, the spattering of freckles across his nose glowing softly in the moonlight. 

     “When are you going to be back?” 

     “Late tomorrow,” Cas says, and Dean sighs. 

     “I can’t wait to see you, babe,” he murmurs, causing the heat and the butterflies and the joy to rush back up into Cas. 

     “I love you, Dean,” Cas whispers because even though there is no one around but the cars passing by at seldom intervals, no one but the trees and the sky, it is too public. The words are for Dean alone, and no one else should get to hear. Dean, half a country away sitting on the hood of his car with his wife asleep just inside the house, feels the same way. He doesn’t want his neighbors, his sleeping daughter, his sleeping wife to hear him, and Cas doesn’t miss it in Dean’s reply. 

     “Me too,” Dean says, and after a moment of swelling silence, the pair hangs up the phone. Dean crawls back into bed beside his wife feeling colder than ever, and Cas drives back into the city to sleep in a bed _without_ Dean.

* * *

     The rest of the drive passes without incident, and they are back in Seattle with the twitch of a nose, a sharp contrast to the drag of the previous day. Cas pulls up to his new apartment and looks out at it with a small smile. This place is his new beginning. It is his way to start over, no matter what atrocities lie behind him. 

     Dean shows up a couple hours into the unloading and unpacking, and after a quick hug from Cas, begins helping. Cas, though he is separating the kitchen ware from the dining ware, keeps an eye on him to make sure Anna does not go back on her promise to leave Dean the hell alone. She leaves him the hell alone, despite an icy reply to his warm hello and the glares she keeps tossing at him. Cas rolls his eyes, expecting this to be as good as it will get with her. 

     Eventually, they each get settled, Cas’ things in Cas’ room, Gabe’s things in Gabe’s room, Sam’s things in the spare closet beside the couch he’ll be sleeping on. He bitchfaces as he piles his belongings on the shelves, but whatever because, had he just _asked,_ they could have found an apartment with three bedrooms instead of two. Even so, when they finish, Sam groans about needing to see Emma, Gabe groans about needing a beer, and Anna groans about needing a nap. The three of them leave Dean and Cas alone to christen the new place however they see fit. 

     Dean grins wolfishly at them as they all leave, but when he turns back to Cas, his grin softens and eyes roam slowly. He steps forward with an arm outstretched, and when he’s close enough, his palm brushes across Cas’ stubbled cheeks and pull him softly closer. 

     “Hey, handsome,” he murmurs, still pulling Cas forward by his jaw until they are nose to nose. 

     “Hello, Dean,” Cas manages, his throat dry and noncompliant. His hands ease themselves forward to rest on Dean’s hips, as gentle and warm and familiar as it is needy and sharp and new. Dean stares at Cas for a moment, his eyes hooded and heavy despite the fact that they have been apart for five days, for ten years. When they kiss, it is slow and sure and leaves Cas breathless. They migrate, move to the couch, and when they fall on it—and subsequently, the remote—the TV turns on. 

     “Sorry, babe,” Dean says, reaching behind Cas’ ass to pull the remote away. Cas giggles, reaching around to swipe his thumb against Dean’s lip, clearing Cas’ spit off it. Cas stares up at Dean, marveling at how lucky he is to be back here with Him. Just as Dean is about to move in to kiss him again, the show playing catches Cas’ attention. 

     “Dean,” Cas says, turning his head at the last moment so that his kiss presses to Cas’ neck instead of his lips. “It’s _Game of Thrones,_ ” he says, staring incredulously at the violence and the sex. “It’s _Game of Thrones,_ ” he repeats with a laugh, turning back to look at Dean before kissing him softly. “Let’s reminisce, Dean,” Cas whispers, and much to his delight, Dean kisses him softly again before sitting up and letting Cas curl under his arm to watch reruns of the show they loved together ten years ago. It’s a marathon, much to their joined glee, so they sit on the couch curled against each other until Gabe bursts back into the apartment, his clothes smelling like liquor. 

     “You two?” he shouts, startling the pair. It was commercial, so Cas was pulled apart from Dean a bit, talking softly to Dean over the noise of the advertisement about nothing and everything. Upon Gabe’s startling entry, they jump a bit, and curl back together with a smile when they see it’s just him. “I figured you’d be in between the sheets by now, _doin’ it_ ,” Gabe shouts, pumping his hips for emphasis, causing Cas to groan into Dean’s shoulder and Dean to snort. 

     “Yeah, so did I,” he teases, squeezing Cas’ shoulder with a grin. 

     “We were reminiscing,” he defends, to which Dean grins and kisses him. 

     “Grossss,” Gabe slurs, tripping on the rug and catching himself. “Whoa, when’d that get there?” he asks, though he had put the rug there himself just this afternoon. “Anyway,” he continues, swaying his way towards the room he claimed as his own. “I’m just gonna…can you tell Ann—Annie to come to, to my room when she gets in? I gotta tell her something super ’portant.” Gabe shuts himself in his room before they can tell him that Anna’s not coming back until the morning. They shrug and go back to their marathon, moving to Cas’ room when Sammy makes it in, and curling up when it’s just the two of them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of a suicide attempt and homophobia. Also yelling and smut. Just giving a heads up.

     Dean leaves Cas' apartment eventually, what with a daughter and a wife to get back to, but he returns the next day, and the day after that, he and Cas spend the day in Dean’s kitchen. Emma is at daycare, and Dean's boss has closed the garage down for some reason or another. They are alone, and rather than spending that time fucking the other to pieces—as awesome as _Dean_ personally thinks that sounds—Cas calls up an old friend. 

     “Castiel Milton,” she croons at the mere sound of his voice. 

     “Hey, Charles,” Cas replies, watching Dean fondly across his tiny kitchen table. 

     “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear from you again! I sent you another letter, but it got sent back, said the addressee no longer lived there!” Cas laughs at the eccentricities in her voice. 

     “I actually moved to Seattle,” Cas tells her, and she gasps.

     “No way!” she exclaims. “That’s where my company is based! It’s destiny, Cas. We’ve gotta meet up! We just have to. Why did you move to Seattle anyway?” Cas grins and reaches for Dean’s hand across the table.

     “Dean,” he replies simply, and she squeals. 

     “I _knew_ you two would still be together!” she exclaims, and Dean smiles, his fingers brushing over Cas’ knuckles. 

     “Well, it’s complicated,” he tells her, squeezing Dean’s fingers softly. The smile on Dean’s face falls a bit, guilt shadowing his eyes. They are both sorry for the decade past, for what it has cost them. 

     “What are you doing right this very second, Cas?” she asks, bringing Cas out of his regret, and he tells her they are sitting in Dean’s kitchen. “I’m coming over,” she declares, and Cas laughs. “I’m serious, Cas!” she says, and Cas sees that yes, she is indeed serious. 

     “Charlie,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

     “I’m coming, so you can either give me the address or I can track this call.” Her voice is stern, and Cas remembers why he loves her. He rolls his eyes as he gives her Dean’s address.

     As they wait for her, Dean fixes coffee, and Cas tells him who Charlie is to him. 

     “She was my only friend in the clinic,” he says, sipping the coffee Dean offers him, two creams and three sugars, just like he likes. “She was this rebellious little shit, talking about lesbian porn to get out of group sessions.” Cas laughs, and Dean smiles, taking Cas’ hand. This is the first time they’ve even come close to talking about the past. “I told her about how much you meant to me, and we vowed not to let the other forget how much we needed our partners.” 

     “So what happened?” Dean asks, and he does not mean it maliciously. He is simply curious, but even so, it tears at Cas a little, the unspoken _why did you fail?_

     “She left,” Cas says with a shrug. “She was only there for her best friend, and when her friend finished the treatment, Charlie left. I wasn’t strong enough without her.” Dean doesn’t say anything, just stares at Cas’ downcast eyes. 

     “So why is she back now?” Dean asks finally, and Cas’ eyes raise.

     “She saw my play,” Cas says with a small smile.

     “ _The_ play?” Dean asks, eyes wide and grinning. 

     “You remember the play I wrote?” 

     “How could I forget?” Dean laughs, squeezing Cas’ hand softly. Cas grins.

     “Well, Charlie saw it and wrote me a letter—coincidentally the letter that made me realize how stupid I was—saying that she owns a publishing company and wants to publish it, even put it in theaters all over the West Coast.” Dean’s eyes widen and the grin starts to grow on his face. 

     “That’s so wonderful, babe!” he exclaims, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Cas’ lips. Cas’ cheeks burn. “You’re finally gonna be published! It’s your dream come true, Cas,” he says, and Cas nods, a smile tugging at his own lips. They sit in silence for a moment before Dean speaks again, his tone light. “Maybe she should put Emma up on the stage. The kid’s been going on for _weeks_ with these dramatic monologues.” Dean grins fondly. “Which is pretty damn cute considering she has the vocabulary of a four-year-old.”

     “She _is_ four,” Cas points out, and Dean shrugs, that grin still on his face. 

     “Still cute.” Cas smiles and runs his thumb over Dean’s knuckles.

     “What’s it like?” he asks softly, and Dean’s eyes cut to Cas, wide and earnest and loving.

     “What? Being four?” he asks, voice teasing even as he squeezes Cas’ fingers. 

     “No, being a dad.” Dean’s smile falls a little, the warmth moving to his eyes instead. 

     “It’s terrifying,” he says softly. “I remember when she was born, the doctors wouldn’t let me in the room because Lydia said she didn’t want me in there. She probably didn't want me to see her with her make-up messed up.” Dean rolls his eyes. “I was furious, but later I realized that it was probably best that I wasn’t in there. Emma didn’t breathe for the first nine seconds after her birth. Doctors smacked her down against a table to get her to breathe.” Dean lets out a laugh, one that quavers as he remembers. “I didn’t even want to hold her after I saw how fragile she was, how tiny…I loved her too much to risk it.” 

     “Risk what?” 

     “Hurting her,” Dean replies, voice small, even as Cas’ grip tightens on his hand. 

     “Dean,” Cas starts, but Dean shakes his head a bit. 

     “I know what I am, Cas. I hurt everything I’ve ever loved. It’s one of the only things I know for sure in this life. The other is that I’m not good enough to keep myself from loving her, so when Lydia demanded that I hold Emma, it was all over. I knew I was a goner.” Dean smiles, his eyes roaming over a picture of him and Emma that hangs in the kitchen. “It’s been a mutual agreement since between me and her,” he says, his voice light. “I’m generally reluctant to let her go, and she generally doesn’t want me to,” he continues, his voice serious. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost her,” he finishes, his voice low. Cas, looking at Dean looking at her, understands that Dean would not put anything before her, that Dean would give anything for her. It makes his heart swell, to watch the man he loves love something so passionately, even if it isn’t him.

     “You won’t lose her,” Cas promises, squeezing Dean’s hand, and Dean smiles, anxiety clawing at his heart. Losing Emma is his biggest fear, made sharper by the fact that every other night he’s fucking another man. Loving Cas is risking Emma, and it takes everything in him to hold still, _not_ to run. Cas squeezes Dean’s fingers again, and the storm wreaking havoc in Dean’s chest calms, slowly but surely. 

     “Thanks, Cas,” Dean murmurs, brushing his thumb over Cas’ knuckles. Twenty minutes later, Charlie appears with a grin, short, chin-length hair, and a massive hug. 

     “Cas,” she cheers, her face buried in his shoulder. He doesn’t cry as he clutches her to him. 

     “Hey, Charlie,” he says, and she laughs a bit. 

     “Okay, stop crying,” she says, pulling back with her own eyes suspiciously red. "God, look at you! All grown up. You could practically count for an adult." Cas snorts. She grins and looks at Dean. “Is this _him?_ ” she asks, and Cas glances back at Dean. He looks mildly terrified, so Cas stretches out a hand to him and pulls him forward. 

     “Charlie, this is Dean,” he says, wrapping an arm low around Dean’s waist as his hand stretches out to grip hers. 

     “I’ve heard so much about you,” she says, elbowing Cas softly and grinning. 

     “Back at you. I hear you’re the one that brought Cas back to me.” He shifts a bit closer to Cas. “Thank you,” he says solemnly, and Charlie’s mouth swings open and shut for a bit before she releases Dean’s hand. 

     “Uh, you’re welcome,” she says, before looking back to Cas in a way that clearly says, _I demand a backstory._ Cas just hugs Dean tighter to his side and nods at her, silently promising that she will get the full story. 

     Dean ushers her inside, and from there, the trio sit around Dean’s tiny kitchen table and begin shifting Charlie into their lives. After catching up on what Gilda is wearing for the wedding, what Dean is doing for a living, and what kind of beer to season chicken with, Charlie looks at Cas sheepishly. 

     “So, I don’t suppose you’ve put any more thought into my offer?” she asks, smiling hopefully at him with over-wide eyes. Cas grins at her. “Is that a yes?” Charlie asks, her voice small and hopeful. Cas smiles at her. 

     “Yeah,” he replies, and both Dean and Charlie cheer, throwing their hands up and hooping. Cas blushes and laughs. 

     Charlie follows Cas home that afternoon—with his knowledge of course—and from his apartment, Cas tells her. He tells her what happened after she left the clinic, what happened when he got back home. He tells her that ten years went by, that it was her letter that pulled him out of his ass, and when he finishes, her mouth flaps open. 

     “You…” she starts, fumbling for words. “Do you even know how lucky you are that he took you back?” she asks, her voice hard and loud. Cas’ eyes widen, and he shrinks down in his seat. “Honestly? To have someone you love shit on you like that?” 

     “I didn’t know what I was doing,” he says, ever the broken record of justifications. Charlie just stares at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. 

     “You are so fucking lucky,” she repeats, and he feels the weight of what he did slamming back into him again. He tries not to think about it.

* * *

     The days are golden; they glow with the closeness of Dean and the security of him being back. They are endless and eternal and Cas loves every single second. Dean is sweet and attentive and both are falling shamelessly back into that place from ten years ago, that place carved from the underbelly of the world just for them. They go the whole nine yards, kissing in the pouring rain, laughing as they throw soap suds at each other, staring deeply into the other’s eyes, all of the goo that comes with being in _love_. Every moment they can, they spend together, Dean sneaking into Cas’ new job at Charlie’s for a midday snack, and Cas going to the garage to bring Dean lunch. They are hardly ever apart, and Cas loves every single second.

     It helps him forget that Dean is married, that they cannot stay in this limbo forever. It's a reality that crashes into Cas nearly two months after beginning the whole "affair" endeavor.

     The day begins as any other. 

     Cas rolls out of bed, showers, kicks the foot of the couch to wake Sam up—can't let him be late for his shmancy lawyer job—, and takes Steve out for a walk. He dresses, makes breakfast, eats, and heads to work, all the while singing some song Dean has been humming for days. When he gets to the office, he begins work on the play, and before he knows it, his script has reached the halfway point and Charlie is telling him to take the rest of the day off, so he does. He calls Dean, and one after the other, they pull into Dean’s driveway. 

     “I’m gonna make you lunch,” Cas says, stepping out of his car and pointing at Dean. He really wants to kiss him, but Dean’s neighbors and what not. Even so, Dean gives Cas the special smile meant only for him, and unlocks the door for Cas. 

     Once inside the threshold, Cas allows himself to kiss Dean, reeling him close by the lapels of his shirt and kissing him softly. After a moment, Dean pulls away, grants himself one last kiss, and says that he needs to check the mail. Cas grins and turns to get started on the delicious lunch he’ll be making. When he hears the door open again, he keeps stirring his pasta but turns to give Dean a grin, one that Dean doesn’t see as he flips aimlessly through the postage. 

     “Anything interesting?” Cas asks, and Dean grunts. 

     “Bills, bills, winning a new car, bills, newspapers,” he says, tossing them to the table as he ticks them off. Cas snorts and turns back around, sliding the noodles into a sieve now that they are tender. Dean keeps looking through the mail, and when there is only one letter left, he stops, staring at it for a moment before opening it, brows furrowed. Cas begins to prattle about work as he cleans and chops some vegetables.

     “So Charlie told me today that Gilda started polishing the play. She said Gilda thinks it will be ready in a week or so, and then we’ll start pitching.” Cas prattles on and on, and Dean’s face gets harder and harder, the farther into the letter he reads, and by the time Cas notices, he is on the last page. “Everything okay, Dean?” Cas asks, turning away from their lunch to look at Dean. 

     Cas recognizes it immediately, both sides of the page covered in Cas’ handwriting from all those years ago, pages stained with the scent of that godforsaken clinic. Cas freezes, watching in horror as Dean’s eyes widen, rims turning red as he reads. 

     “Dean, put that down,” Cas warns, voice already beginning to shake. It is too late. Dean’s eyes flick up to Cas’, and he stands angrily. 

     “What the fuck is this?” he asks, his voice low and deadly as he holds the papers out to Cas. “What the fuck is this?” he shouts, shaking them so violently in Cas’ face that a few of them fall to the floor, and Cas sees that it is a collection of _everything,_ his inventory, his goodbye, everything from the clinic that makes him look like an ass to Dean is wadded up in His hand, stealing away the only happiness they’ve ever known. “What is it, Cas?” he shouts, bringing Cas back to reality. 

     “Dean, I—” he starts, but Dean does not give him the chance to explain. 

     “You know, I’ve been spending this whole time telling myself _again_ and _again_ that I should forgive you, no matter what, that I shouldn’t even ask for an apology or an explanation because I didn’t want to fucking lose you again, but baby, _here I am_ and goddamn it, I’m _asking_ for an explanation. What the _fuck_ is it?” 

     “I,” but Cas is cut off again, and this time, Dean begins reading from the inventory, voice hard and laced with the razor of betrayal. 

     “‘It was making love to my best friend and waking up desperate to talk to someone about the confusion, the darkness that came with the sex and being unable to because He’s the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to. It was seeing my sister and her boyfriend, His brother and his girl and wanting to be normal for once in my life.’ Is this how you feel Cas?” he shouts, and Cas flinches away from him. “Is that what this is for you? _Wrong? Unnatural?_ ”

     “No, Dean, of course not. I was,” but Dean is cutting him off again, reading this time from the apology. 

     “‘I want to apologize for everything that has happened between us. I need you to understand that I never loved you. I’m not apologizing for that.’” Dean laughs humorlessly, tears forming big and full in his eyes. 

     “Dean,” Cas whimpers, but Dean is not done. 

     “‘Looking back, it was all mindless sex, but I’m sorry for affecting you.’ Mindless sex, huh Cas?” Dean shouts, throwing the rest of his handful onto the ground with a shout. Tears begin to well in Cas’ eyes, and the ones in Dean’s develop more fully as he turns away from Cas and scrubs a hand down his face. “I was a goddamn _train wreck_ the day you told me you didn’t love me, do you understand? I _died._ I lost everything I’d ever loved: you, Sam, my home, my whole fucking _life_ was gone because of you!” 

     “Dean, I never meant to hurt you,” Cas says, reaching out and wrapping a hand around Dean’s arm, only to have Dean jerk away and turn on him. 

     “Do _not_ fucking touch me right now." He breathes heavily, eyes still locked on Cas. Cas is stunned silent, fumbling for _some way_ to explain, to make Dean understand that he had been _wrong_ , that Dean is Cas' whole world. Dean speaks before Cas can find the words. "Was it all some joke, Cas? Huh, is that it? You break my heart all those years ago, leave me to rebuild my whole life without you for ten goddamn years, and _just_ when I think I’m happy, just when I’ve got a nice wife, a nice home, a _child,_ for Christ’s sake, you come back in here, _tear_ into like it was yours to take, make me think this was _what I wanted!_ Then oh look! He’s secure, he’s happy, let’s fuck him over. _Again!_ And for what, _Cas?”_ Dean slams the name into him, tears still hanging in his eyes, ready to spill at any moment despite how hard and sure his voice is. “So you could watch me crumble? Watch me fall back to pieces? Laugh as you destroy me, _again?_ How’s it look, Cas? Fucking _satisfying?”_

     “Dean, please, I—” but again Dean cuts him off, turning away and stepping on the crumpled papers as he walks away. 

     “Do you even know what you did to me, Cas? You _broke_ my fucking heart,” he says, and now his voice fails; it cracks on heart, and with his failing voice, the tears begin to fall. “You destroyed me. I didn’t want to be alive. I tried to kill myself, you know?" Cas chokes, slamming his eyes shut at the mere thought of a world without Dean Winchester in it. He begins to sob. "I was absolutely lost without you, haunted by the things you said, the way you looked at me that night.” Dean’s tears fall too, and soon, they are both staring at the other cry, too broken by the past to comfort the other, to accept comfort even if the other could. “I could still repeat back what you said. You said, ‘Dean, it’s over. It wasn’t real anyway. I was just confused, curious. It was _wrong._ ’” Dean lets out a broken laugh, one that has Cas’ tears falling harder and harder. “And then you said, ‘I don’t love you. I never did. I should have never let you touch me the way you did. You sodomized me, ruined me,’ and then I told you that I loved you, and you said I destroyed you and that you would never be good again, never be clean, that I was a disgrace, a goddamn felon against goodness.”

     “I’m so sorry Dean,” Cas whimpers, his heart breaking in his chest. It’s been years since he was really forced to relive the horrors of that night, the guilt and the pain he felt from hurting Dean; it’s been years, and he deserves every goddamn second of this. 

     “That’s become my favorite punishment, you know?” Dean asks, his face wet with his own tears. “A goddamn felon against goodness,” he repeats, and Cas pushes out a broken sob. He never wanted Dean to feel this, even then, he only wanted Dean to be able to tear away from him easily and move on to someone else. He didn’t want Dean to be broken and hating himself for the rest of his life. 

     “I thought,” Cas starts, marveling a bit when Dean lets him continue, his hands on his hips and tears still sliding down his cheeks. "I thought I was being righteous. I just wanted you to have a clean break, to be able to move on.” Dean snorts, and Cas flinches. 

     “You thought you were being _righteous_. No, Cas, you were being _self-righteous_. You thought you were better than me, thought that you would save me from myself.” Dean stops suddenly, chest heaving as Cas readies himself for another round of swearing that he entirely deserves. When Dean speaks again, his voice is loud, but level. “Don’t you get it?” Dean asks, his voice big in the small space of the kitchen. Cas cocks his head to the side, his vision blurry with tears. Dean strides closer, hands reaching out to grab Cas’ face. Cas practically melts into the rough touch, so it’s not surprising when Cas lets himself be pushed backwards until Dean is able to thump his head against the refrigerator. “I will _never_ be over you, you dumbass,” Dean says, pushing Cas’ head back into the door again. “You’ve fucking ruined me. There will never be anyone else. I’m yours.” As soon as the words are out of Dean’s mouth, his lips are surging forward and slamming against Cas’. Cas’ hands are frantic on Dean, tugging and demanding and taking, always taking. Dean kisses him back desperately. 

     They are ten years away from where they started, but Cas is still Cas, hot and cold and unavoidable Cas. He is still the man Dean wishes he could hate as much as he loves, still the man he couldn’t stop loving for anything. Dean groans into Cas’ mouth, seedy and begging and everything Cas needs to decide that he cannot go another second with this many layers of clothes between their bodies. He needs to feel Dean here, _alive._ He strips Dean of his jacket first, hands ripping it from Dean’s shoulders and tossing it to the side. Dean’s hands mimic and liberates Cas of his trench coat, tossing it to the floor atop his own jacket. Once jackets are gone, Cas has to pause a moment to delve against Dean’s neck, nipping and licking and tugging, encouraged by Dean’s breathy moans and hands gripping at Cas’ ass. 

     “Cas,” he breathes, and that is all it takes to remind Cas that he needs Dean right the fuck now. Cas strips Dean of his flannel, his t-shirt, his jeans in a quick secession of seconds, and then strips himself as well, straight down to his skin. 

     “Dean,” Cas grunts, stepping forward with his hands on Dean’s ass and rutting against the cloth over Dean’s cock. Dean groans back, mouth on Cas’ neck as they rut. “Dean I need you so fucking much,” he says, and Dean nods, mouth leaving sloppy and wet trails down Cas’ neck. "I'm so sorry, Dean. Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how much I love you." Cas drops Dean’s boxers to the floor and picks up his jeans to find a condom and the lube packets he’s started carrying around. When he finds them, he tosses his jeans again, and tugs his fingers through Dean’s hair, demanding that he stay exactly where Cas puts him, and when he doesn’t, he gets a nip on the shoulder, tearing a groan from between Dean’s lips. 

     “Fuck me, Cas,” Dean whines, and Cas drops to his knees so quickly that Dean is startled at the loss of a mouth on his, startled at the gain of a mouth on his prick. Cas sucks him there for a little while, Dean’s head smacking against the wall behind him, fingers digging into the paint until finally Dean gasps that if he doesn’t stop, he’ll come all over, and Cas doesn’t want him to come yet. So he pulls off with a pop, staring up at Dean from his knees with big blue eyes begging for sex and sin. 

     "I'm so sorry," he says, and Dean nods. It's not exaclty a forgiveness, but Cas reaches up, hands rubbing up and down Dean’s chest, stopping for an instant to pinch at his nipples, eliciting a broken moan from Dean. After spending a moment there, he continues his trail upward and wraps his hands around Dean’s forearms. He tugs gently until Dean gets the message and falls to his knees before Cas. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I'll never hurt you again," and Dean nods. It's not exactly trust, but Cas threads his fingers into Dean’s hair and tugs him closer until their lips collide and Dean’s hands wrap around Cas’ waist, laying them slowly right there in the middle of the kitchen, lunch forgotten amid scattered pieces of Dean’s heart. 

     "I love you, Dean. Know how sorry I am," and Dean nods. It's not exactly an _I love you too_ , but after lying there kissing for a while, Cas presses close and slides a hand down between Dean’s ass cheeks. Dean groans when Cas’ finger begins feeling around. Cas has not done this in ten years. They have had sex, sure, but Dean has always topped, but now, Cas knows Dean needs to be held, needs to be taken care of, needs to be reminded that Cas will not leave. Cas’ fingers feel Dean slowly, and eventually, Cas worms his way down and laps against Dean’s hole again and again with his tongue, tearing pained moans out of Dean until he finally tears into the lube packets and stretches him right. 

     Cas swallows down the flashbacks of Naomi telling him he is _wrong,_ wrong for wanting this, wrong for loving Dean. He swallows them down because he loves Dean, no matter what that goddamn bitch thinks, and he wants to show Dean that he loves him, _needs_ Dean to understand. He kisses Dean softly before sliding his fingers from him and rolling the condom on. Dean watches him slowly, his eyes taking in every curve of Cas’ face, every twitch of his lips. He is so enraptured that when Cas looks up, a gasp falls from between Dean's lips at the blunt head of Cas’ cock pushing slowly past the first ring of muscle. Cas trembles over him, Dean’s legs spread wide around Cas’ hips, willing himself to relax around Cas. 

     “Shit,” Cas hisses, pushing slowly in until his hips are flush with the curve of Dean’s ass. Dean’s fingers clutch at Cas’ shoulders, and Cas has his hands threaded into Dean’s hair, his lips resting against the side of Dean’s neck. 

     “Fuckin’ _move,_ Cas,” Dean hisses finally, and Cas obliges, pulling out slowly before beginning a rhythm that gets faster and harder the longer they ride. Eventually, he is slamming into Dean again and again, drawing groans from between his own lips and an endless string of encouragements from between Dean’s. “Fuck yeah,” Dean praises, hands clutching his way down Cas’ back. “Right there…so good, baby…don’t stop,” and so on and so forth into the tiny eternity bouncing back and forth between the two of them. By the time that their orgasm closes in around the pair, they are oblivious to all else. 

     Had they not been, they would have heard Lydia’s car pulling into the drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These fuckers and their impeccable timing...
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I'd love to know what you all thought!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Cas' rape in the following chapter.

     The front door opens just as Cas lets out a tremendous grunt, Dean arching up into him, burying his face in Cas’ neck. Lydia stands there, stunned still as she catches sight of her husband _fucking_ another man, her husband being fucked _by_ another man. Dean, however, jerks away from Cas immediately upon the sight of her, clamoring out from under him and grabbing the first piece of clothing he can find to cover himself. 

     “Lydia,” he gasps, taking in her horrified eyes, her mouth hanging agape. His heart is slamming in his chest, blood boiling as he looks between her and Cas. Just when he thinks it cannot get worse, a second set of feet make themselves known.

     “Mommy,” Emma says, running around the corner and into sight. Some kind of choked noise pushes up through Dean, and from where he hides from his daughter's gaze behind the island, he sees Lydia’s shock wear off for anger. She scoops Emma up and turns on her heels, slamming the door behind her. 

     “Fuck,” Dean hisses, standing and jerking on his jeans before running after her. She is just finishing getting Emma back in her car seat when Dean bursts outside, shirtless in the nippy cold. “Lydia,” he calls, and she practically runs to get in her seat and slam the door on him. Unfortunately for her, Dean is quicker. His hand is on her door before she can pull it open, and she is trapped between him and the car. 

     “Let me go, Dean,” she hisses, eyes boring holes into whatever lies just above his left shoulder. 

     “Lydia, please,” he begs, glancing at Emma who is watching with wide eyes from the backseat.

     “I’m leaving,” Lydia says, flicking her eyes to him and turning to stone. 

     “Lydia, please don’t. We can talk about this.” Dean’s eyes are watching Emma again. She is still staring at them. 

     “Talk about how you were in there fucking that guy,” she says, voice loud and sharp as she flings her arms to the house where Cas likely still waits. 

     “Please, Lydia. Emma’s watching,” Dean says, closing his eyes to his daughter’s horrified stare. 

     “I don’t care who the hell is watching. You won’t be seeing _her_ any time soon anyway,” she says, and Dean freezes. His eyes flick back open, first to stare at his daughter, at her green eyes and long, blonde hair, and then to stare at his wife, her cold demeanor and heartless actions. 

     “You aren’t taking her,” he growls, but she just blinks up at him. 

     “Maybe you should have thought about your daughter before you decided to fuck _him,_ ” she says, and before Dean knows it, she is in her car and driving away, taking with her the love of his life crying in the backseat, screaming for her daddy. Dean runs after her when he realizes what the fuck just happened, but she is too fast, and soon, Emma is gone.

     He goes back inside eventually, numb all over and aching like he’s never hurt before. His daughter is gone… When he gets inside, Cas, now dressed and anxious looking, wraps him with a blanket and tries to rub the cold and numb from his limbs. He succeeds, but when the cold and numb leaves him, all Dean is left with is an irrational anger towards Cas. 

     “Get the fuck out,” he hisses, glaring straight at Cas. Cas, sitting on the arm of the chair Dean is hunched over in, reels back a little. “You heard me!” he barks, but Cas’ eyes just widen. 

     “Dean, come on, you can’t be serious. I can help,” Cas says, still rubbing his hands down Dean’s back. Dean stands and moves away from Cas so quickly that his head spins a little. 

     “Get out!” he shouts, startling Cas where he sits on the arm of Dean’s chair watching him. “I can’t fucking do this! This, this hot and cold and goddamn whiplash! I’m not seventeen anymore! I need something fucking steady, and my _family_ was what steady was for me!”

     “You were miserable!” Cas shouts, staring at Dean with wide eyes. “Your wife wouldn’t even touch you!”

     “Yeah, well at least they were here! At least I _knew_ they would be here and wouldn’t decide they no longer wanted me! At least I was fucking _secure_ and _stable!_ ”

     “You didn’t want _stable_! You wanted _excitement_ and _spontaneity_. You wanted _me!_ ”

     “I wanted my _daughter!_ ” Dean screams. “My _daughter_ is gone because of you!” 

     “Dean,” Cas says softly, stepping forward in hopes of comforting the man he loves, but Dean just lashes out again. 

     “Get the fuck _out!”_ he roars, startling Cas. “Just fucking leave! I fucking hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” and that’s the closest he’s ever come to meaning it. “Leave!” Cas stares at Dean a moment longer, hands trembling before he pulls on his trench coat and leaves. 

     “I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he murmurs to Dean on his way out, but Dean just bares his teeth and slams the door behind Cas. When he is alone, he sinks down the length of his door and holds his head in his hands. He almost wishes he meant the words that just came out of his mouth. He almost does not want to love Cas. He does not want things with Cas to be so fucking complicated. He does not want to be stuck in this goddamn situation that no one can win. He just wants to be happy with the people who make him happy. 

     Cas stands outside of Dean’s door for a moment, listening to His bare back scrape against the wood of the door before He’s finally sitting. Cas can picture Him: opposite the wood, elbows on knees, head in hands, heart breaking for His little girl. 

     Cas knows Dean didn’t mean those things. He knows how much Emma means to Dean, and to think that he might lose her obviously made him very upset. Cas knows that Dean just needs a day or so to calm down and see that Cas can help fix this as much as he helped create this. Cas knows Dean just needs space to cool down, so with shaking hands, Cas starts his car and heads for his own apartment. When he gets there, he finds Sam and Gabe splayed across the couch watching the cooking channel. 

     He goes to his own room and locks the door behind him. 

     When he awakes the next morning, two hours before his alarm, he showers and heads to the Dean’s favorite café. He gets a coffee for Dean and a coffee for himself before leaving and heading to Dean’s. He knows that now that Dean has cooled down, he needs Cas there for him. He needs to be reminded that what they have is _good_ and worth the fight. He even manages to sing a little on the way, tell Charlie that he’ll be to their meeting in an hour, and when he gets to Dean’s house, he finds Dean sitting on the front steps, arms curled around knees and a cigarette in hand. He does not look up when Cas parks, gets out of the car, and approaches him. Even so, Cas approaches and sits next to him. Cas wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and tugs him close, pushing the coffee he bought him into his hand. 

     “Hey,” Cas murmurs, pressing his lips to Dean’s bare shoulder. “Thought you quit,” Cas says, waving to the cigarette in his hand. Dean sits there for a moment before straightening and sliding away from Cas. “Dean?” Cas asks, but Dean’s eyes are still staring at nothing. He brings his cigarettes to his lips and takes a massive hit. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

     “Lydia dropped divorce papers off this morning.” Dean stares straight ahead, hand clenched tight around his coffee cup. The smoke blows out of his nose slowly.

     “Dean,” Cas murmurs sympathetically, reaching for Dean again, only to be denied again. Cas pulls his hands back in and stares at his shoes. “I know you’re worried about Emma, but Lydia will come around. We’ll get through this together; let me be here for you.”

     “I’m not angry at you, Cas, but I’ll never forgive you for this.” Dean stares straight ahead, and Cas' eyes widen, his heart slamming in his chest. A million thoughts crash into him, whirring around and around, telling him he deserves this, he deserves things falling apart with Dean. 

     “I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas whispers finally, staring at Dean's profile with wide and earnest eyes. “I _never_ meant for this to happen. We’ll fix it, Dean. Please, just…” But Dean cuts him off. 

     “I asked you to go, Cas,” Dean says, his voice level. He does not sound angry. He takes one last long pull on his cigarette before flicking it into the driveway amid a pile of burned butts. He’s likely been smoking them one after another since yesterday to keep the monsters at bay.

     “I…I thought you were just angry.” Dean turns to Cas and nods. Those eyes still don’t meet Cas’.

     “I was. I shouldn’t have said most of what I did yesterday, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t truth to it.” Dean’s eyes lock on Cas’ for the first time today, and Cas’ heart stutters in his chest. “You’re toxic to me. When you’re around…things in my life fall apart. I’m not blaming you or anything, it’s just how I react to you. When you’re around, I think I’m invincible and that nothing bad could ever happen. I act recklessly and carelessly, and everything I love gets taken from me. When you’re around, I think that everything is right with the world, and that’s just not true. You’re a taker, Cas, and I have nothing left to give.” Cas’ mouth flutters open and shut, his heart slamming in its cage. Dean is not wrong. Cas has been nothing but toxic to Dean for years, taking every inch of happiness he’s ever had and shredding it.

     “Please, Dean," Cas whimpers, desperate as he watches Dean's face. He's never seen so much hurt, so much regret. "Please," he begs, and Dean looks away, eyes slowly becoming glossy. 

     “Don't do this, Cas," Dean says, voice hard even as his eyes become more and more red. "Don't fight me, because I'm not strong enough to win. This isn't easy for me either. You've been my one and only for all my life, the only person I'd ever want to be with, and that isn't going to change. But I can't do this. Emma is where I draw the line." A million arguments flash through Cas' mind, justifications and pleas and the thrumming, _desperate_ need to not let Dean walk away. Then he looks at Dean, just as desperate as Cas is, but begging for the opposite outcome, begging for Cas to go without a fight. _Don't fight me,_ he'd said. _Because I'm not strong enough to win_. Cas, if he did convince Dean to give him another chance, would live the rest of his life knowing their relationship is a lie, is something Dean doesn't want, and Cas, watching Dean's teary eyes, understands. 

     “I’m so sorry, Dean,” he whispers, staring at his best friend, the love of his life, his star-crossed eternity. Dean stares back, and Cas, as he stands to leave, thinks it takes a bigger person to walk away than it does to stay and make things worse. Dean, sitting on the steps watching Cas walk away, slaps up a wall around himself to keep from calling out to Cas. It takes everything in him, and when Cas’ car becomes a mere speck, Dean wipes his hand through the tears on his face and lights another cigarette. He swallows back the horrendous, _aching_ sob and takes a long drag on his cigarette.

* * *

     Cas manages to choke down his own sobs until he gets to Charlie’s office, but as soon as his car slips into park, he shatters. 

      _How did I let this happen?_ he asks himself, tugging his hair out of his face, his forehead knocking against the steering wheel. He stays in his car for a while, trying hard to get a grip, and when someone knocks on his window, he stutters in a shaky breath and looks forward. He can’t look at Charlie yet. 

     “I’ll be there in a second,” he says, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the windshield. He barely recognizes himself, eyes bloodshot, face pale, hair wild. He closes his eyes, wipes away the remains of his tears and puts his head back on the steering wheel. 

     When he gets inside, Charlie takes one look at him and excuses herself from the client she’s currently with. Cas braces himself for it, and good thing too, because when she reaches him, her voice is big and concern loud. 

     “What’s the matter? Did something happen?” she asks, and Cas closes his eyes, determined not to cry again. 

     “Yes,” he replies shortly, and turns away from her. She watches him go for a moment before jogging after him. 

     “ _Yes_ ,” she mimics, pegging the throaty growl in his voice before her voice turns back to her own. “Yes? You tell me something happened but you don’t tell me what? Just ‘yes.’?” Cas wills the tears to go away. “Come on, Cas,” she murmurs, leading him into her office and shutting the door behind them. He leans against her desk, eyes downcast and wide. “It’s me you’re talking to. You know you can tell me anything.” 

     “He’s leaving me, Charlie,” Cas says finally, his voice shaking and teary. Her eyes widen, and the tears fall against Cas’ will. “ _Dean_ leaving me.”

     “What happened?” she asks slowly, and Cas tells her. He tells her about the fight, about the sex, about the fight, about Lydia leaving. He tells her that he never wanted that to happen, that he only wanted Dean to be happy. Charlie’s mouth hangs open. 

     “I’m sorry, Cas,” she says softly, reaching out to brush his shoulder. He nods. 

     “Thank you.” He does not feel her. He hurts too much to feel anything but Dean pushing him away. 

     “Are you okay?” she asks, and he looks up at her, face blank.

     “No,” he replies, and she drops her eyes. They stand in silence for a moment, Charlie fumbling for a way to console him and Cas too trapped by his thoughts to notice. 

     “I just…” Charlie starts, barely catching his attention. “How did he even get the letters?” she asks, and Cas’ eyes raise to hers. “I would assume you didn’t send them.” 

     “Naomi,” he mutters finally, too numb to feel angry. 

     “How did she find Dean? How did she even know you two were back together?” Charlie frowns at Cas. 

     “I have no idea…”

     “Don’t you want to know?” she asks, her voice excitable and wild. 

     “Of course I want to know, Charlie, and I want to be with Dean, and I want world peace, and none of that is going to happen for me.” Cas’ eyes fill with tears again. 

     “Cas,” she starts, tone soft and gentle. Cas looks away, chewing his lip to keep the tears at bay. “We can have our meeting another time,” she deems finally, and Cas looks away. Charlie leaves after a moment with another sympathetic brush of his shoulder. 

     Cas stays in her office for hours, watching the world pass by through the window without seeing anything. He finds himself sitting in the chair across from her desk, curled up with his knees against his chest. Charlie comes back in later, hands him a cup of coffee, kisses his cheek, and tells him she’s going home for the night. She asks if he’ll be alright tonight, asks if he wants to go with her. He tells her no. He doesn’t specify to which question, and he supposes it doesn’t really matter. 

     He stays there in Charlie’s office, staring out of the window until Gabriel calls, and Cas doesn’t answer. He stays there until Sam calls, and Castiel throws his phone into the wall across the room, shattering it. Cas can’t go back to his apartment, not when Dean’s _supposed_ to be there and most definitely will _not_ be. He can’t go back to the empty bed that smells like Dean, so he’ll stay here tonight, curled in Charlie’s office chair beneath his jacket. He won’t sleep. 

     He’ll stare at the wall for hours, blinking at nothing and saved only by a sharp knock on the door. The knocker draws him into the reality he’s been dozing in and out of since yesterday. He doesn’t look up, but Charlie comes in anyway. 

     “Did you just knock to come into your own office?” he asks, still staring. 

     “Did you go home last night?” she asks, putting a cup of coffee into his hand. He takes an absent sip before setting it beside the untouched cup she gave him last night. 

     “It’s not home without him,” Cas murmurs. Charlie watches him with a sympathetic frown. 

     But eventually, Cas does go home. Well, he goes back to his empty apartment. Like he told Charlie, it’s not really home without Dean…Even so, he flicks on the lights and is greeted by silence. Sam is probably at work, and who knows where Gabe is. All Cas knows is that four mornings ago, he was standing here in the kitchen, cooking with Dean’s arms slung low around his waist, and now, Cas has cost Dean his wife, his daughter… Cas turns the lights back off and goes to his room. 

     Sam finds him there a few hours later, fist tentative against the wood as he knocks. Cas says nothing, and Sam comes in anyway, finds him curled under his sheets and staring at the wall. He clutches a pillow to him in hopes of filling the emptiness. It’s not working. Sam stares at Cas, his brother’s anger raging through him until he is left cold and staring at his old friend Cas. 

     “I talked to Dean,” Sam says, voice loud in the silence. Cas flinches at His name. “Lydia won’t let him see Emma.” Cas flinches again. He never meant to ruin Dean’s life. All he’s ever wanted is Dean’s happiness. 

     “Don’t worry,” Cas murmurs finally, voice nearly suffocated by the pillow clutched to his chest. “I won’t be bothering him anymore,” and this time, Cas is suffocated by the words rather than the words being suffocated by him. 

     “Cas,” Sam huffs, but that is all he manages before Cas is speaking again, speaking over him. 

     “I never meant for this to happen, okay? I just want him happy, and he's made it very clear what he wants, Sam. He wants his wife and his daughter, and I don’t blame him. All I’ve ever done is hurt him.”

     “Cas, we all make mistakes, hurt the people we love, but because these people love us in return, they forgive us.” 

     “Dean doesn’t love me,” Cas replies, and the words taste like bile on the way out. 

     “Bullshit,” Sam spits, and Cas curls closer to his pillows. “You’re the only person he’s ever loved.”

     “What about you?” Cas asks, his voice small. “Emma?” Voice smaller. He doesn’t have the right to say her name, not after what he’s cost her. 

     “Been _in love_ with,” he amends, and tears well up in Cas’ eyes. “He needs you, Cas.” Cas takes a long moment to answer, and when he speaks, his voice is shaky with tears. 

     “Don’t say that to me, Sam,” he mutters. “Don’t tell me he needs me. It will only make it more difficult for me to do what’s right by him.”

     “Which is what, exactly?” Sam asks; Cas doesn’t answer. 

     Gabe comes in next, hours later without knocking.

     “What are you doing?” Gabriel demands, arms crossed across his chest.

     “Go away, Gabriel,” Cas murmurs, hugging the pillow tighter to his chest. It smells like Him. 

     “You’re being overly dramatic.” Cas clenches his eyes shut and huddles under his blankets. “Come on, Cas. Get over it.” Cas breathes in a deep breath and sits up.

     “Gabe, it’s not something you just _get over_ , not the way I love Dean. You don’t understand what it means to be in love with someone.” Gabe’s eyes harden, and he leaves. Cas goes back to huddling. 

     He and Gabriel have a fight the next morning, short and ugly, demanding of their entire attentions even though it is about Dean. 

     “I am _so_ goddamn sick of this,” Gabriel shouts, throwing his hands in the air and turning away from Cas. “Your _pouting_ and your _whining_ and your refusal to do _jack shit_ about any of it!”

     “I know when to give up, Gabriel!” Cas shouts back. “I’ve taken enough from him!”

     “You don’t give up on someone you love!” 

     “He doesn’t fucking _want me,_ Gabriel! He doesn’t _want me_ to be there! There’s nothing I can do about that except respect it! He doesn’t want me anymore, and that’s the end of it. He finally realized that _I am not good enough for him_ , that I only cause him pain.” 

     “Oh, he just _realized_ , eh? Opened his eyes one morning and thought, ‘Huh. Cas sure is a pain in my ass,’ no pun intended, and told you to get the fuck out? Real fucking likely.” 

     “No, Gabriel! He got the letters he was never supposed to get, and he reacted like any sane person would! We yelled and bitched and started having angry make-up sex, and his wife and daughter walked in just as we were getting to the good part. His wife took their little girl and _left_ , and Dean saw that I ruin everything I love! Does that _explain it_ well enough, Gabe?”

     “So get fucking angry!” Gabe shouts, turning back to Cas and stepping into his personal space, shoving him back a bit to emphasize his anger point. “Key his car! Scream metal music at the top of your lungs! Put a hit out on whoever sent the letter! Don’t just roll over and die!”

     “I’m not going to _key his car_ , jackass, and I hate metal. I already know who sent the fucking letter! It was the bitch from the clinic who tore us apart in the first place!” 

     “So shove it up her ass! Don’t let her get away with tearing you and Dean apart _twice!_ ”

     “What am I supposed to do, Gabriel?” Cas shouts, his hands thrown in the air as well. 

     “Go there! Pick a fight! Key _her_ car! Have her arrested! I can think of a _shit ton_ of paybacks for that bitch.” Cas blinks, reels back a bit as the reality slams into him, turns on his heels, and leaves.

     He calls Sam along the way. 

     “What would it take to have someone arrested? A whole group of someones, actually,” he asks, his foot pressing into the pedal hard. It will be thirteen hours before he gets there, and he will not stop on the way. 

     “Depends,” Sam replies. He sounds busy; Cas thinks that’s okay. It’s better he’s distracted. 

     “On what?” 

     “Who are you trying to have arrested?”

     “A sociopath,” he bites, and Sam sighs.

     “Cas, you can’t have someone arrested just because you think they’re a sociopath. They still have to do something illegal.”

     “Is rape illegal enough for you?” Silence. 

     “What do you need?” and Cas tells him, explains as much as he can spare to explain while driving, and Sam’s voice shakes as he hangs up with Cas to make a few more calls. When he finishes, he calls Cas back. “The cops will meet you at the clinic, tear the whole thing down.” 

     “Thank you, Sam,” Cas replies, already pulling his phone away from his ear. He is still driving 95 on the highway, his foot heavy and insistent. 

     “Cas,” Sam says, catching Cas’ attention before he can allow his tunnel vision to return. He puts the phone back to his ear, but Sam doesn’t say anything.

     “What is it, Sam?” Cas prompts, but again a beat of silence follows. He is just about to hang up when Sam speaks, voice low and tentative. 

     “I had no idea, Cas,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know that’s what happened…I’m so sorry.” 

     “It’s not something I wanted you to know,” Cas replies after a moment. “It doesn't change what I did, doesn't validate it or justify it. It only gives you a reason to pity me, and I am not one to be pitied.”

     “I know you aren’t,” Sam replies, his voice soft. “I just…” 

     “You just wanted to tell me you forgive me, that you’re gonna cut me a break because of what happened to me.” Sam says nothing, and Cas knows he's right. “Well don't,” and Cas hangs up.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, just wanted to let you all know that there may be several things in this chapter that are triggering to some. Cas' rape is mentioned a good deal, along his struggle getting through that, and this chapter is the reason for the tag "Terminal Illness," (Not Cas or Dean). I just wanted to give everyone a heads up.

     Cas pulls up to the clinic with a numbness eating away at his heart. It has been fifty-eight hours since he has seen Dean. Ten years have passed, but fifty-eight hours feels like a lifetime. Even so, he stares at the building, slate gray concrete and ten years paved into its cement. It sets his nerves on edge, so much so that his breathing shallows and his hands begin to shake. He draws in one, two, three quick breaths before he shoulders open his door and stands tall, false confidence pulling into his stance. 

     His legs shake on the first step, knees falter a bit on the second, but on the third, his shoulder square back and his stride takes on purpose. _Dean_ , he remembers. He’s doing this for Dean. 

     The front door is heavy in his hand as the smell of antiseptics and soap and tears slams him backward ten years. Only this time, his fight will not fail. As soon as he steps through the door, the same man from ten years ago, still working the desk, widens his eyes. It seems they are all stuck where they were back then. 

     “Castiel Milton?” the man asks, a half-grin forming on his face. 

     “It's Cas,” he replies, not stopping, not sparing him a glance. He chokes back the memories pressing in around him, does not dare to even glance at the door with April Kelly's name on it. His hands shake at his sides. 

     He finds Naomi in her office; he does not knock before entering. She sits there, legs crossed neatly with a clipboard resting atop her knee, crying girl in the chair before her. They both look up upon his entry. The girl's eyes are wide, Naomi’s, narrowed. 

     “Well, hello, Castiel,” she says, looking up at him with something that isn't quite surprise. 

     “Naomi,” he says shortly, eyes locked dead on her. 

     “Krissy, will you excuse us?” Naomi asks the girl, her eyes still on Cas. The girl, Krissy, stands, tears still running down her face, and leaves. 

     “Who told you?” Cas asks, once the girl is gone. His voice is level, commanding. He has lost too much to tremble now. 

     “Told me what, dear?” She asks, setting her clipboard to the side and smiling at him. Her eyes are cold.

     “You know what,” he spits, and her eyes glint darker.

     “You mean dear Dean?” She asks sweetly, and Cas’ jaw clenches at the sound of His name coming from between her filthy lips. “Pity, really. I hear he’s married now.” Her tone is conversational, airy.

     “Who told you?” he growls, and she smirks.

     “Did he get my letter? I sure hope it didn't _cause trouble_. When I heard you had _relapsed_ ,” she sneers the word. “It just rested better on my conscience knowing that, now, he knows how you _really_ feel about him. We wouldn’t want him diving in with the devil half informed, would we?” And that is it. Cas springs forward, a single hand finding a very satisfied grip in the roots of her scalp as her eyes stare into his, terrified. 

     “Who,” he growls, tugging a bit to get the point across. “ _Fucking_ told you?” She tries to speak, but her voice comes out shaky, not at all the voice of a sure woman. 

     “Your mother,” she wheezes, and Cas jerks away from her so quickly it looks as though she scalded him. 

     “My mother?” He reels, backing up until his back thumps the door. “But how did she know?”

     “You should be more careful where you talk,” Naomi spits, smoothing down her hair where he held her. Her other hand creeps toward the panic button under the lip of her desk, and Cas pushes aside his mother's betrayal to focus on the here, the now.

     “Don't bother,” he bites, in reference to the creeping hand. “I’ve already called the cops.” He pauses to enjoy her look of terror, allowing it to bring triumph to the anger broiling inside of him. “I’m shutting you down.” He is just about to turn on his heels and get the fuck out of that place when her voice screeches at him through the silence. When he turns back, her eyes are crazed, wild.

     “You can’t leave,” she screams, slamming her hands down on her desk. “You are _sick_! You can’t leave!”

     “Watch me, _bitch,_ ” he growls, and he may sound tasteless or catty or juvenile, but he is above none of that, not when it comes to her, not when it comes to people fucking with his and Dean’s relationship. “You’re going to jail, Naomi,” he spits. “You may have brainwashed hundreds of people into believing that who they are is wrong, but it's _over._ You don’t get to ruin lives anymore.”

     “I ruined yours,” she growls, tears lining her still wild eyes. “That’s all that matters.”

     “You did,” he agrees with a sharp nod. “You fucked my life up, destroyed it, and I may never get Dean back after what you did.” She smiles, triumph settling into her face. “But don’t think you’ve won,” he continues lowly, darkly. “Because no matter who you show those letters to, or what you have done to me, or what you try to force into my brain, I will _never_ stop loving him. I will always be _sick_.” He leans in close, smells the stench of manipulator and bitch on her skin, and smiles. “You fucking lost.” 

     Then he leaves. 

     He runs into April on his way out and it takes everything in him not to punch her across her pretty little face. She sees him, and recognition flashes into her eyes. 

     “Castiel Milton,” she croons, stepping close into his space.

      “Back the fuck up,” he spits, and she reels away, eyes wide.

     “Excuse me?” she sputters, hand over her heart like he offended her.

     “You heard me. How many people have you raped? And you?” He spits, flinging his arm at her male counterpart, the one who “helped” Dorothy and countless other girls. The guy bows up a bit, his stance defensive like he's ready to punch Cas. Before the guy can swing, however, the doors burst open and what looks like a whole precinct files in, the lead cop yielding a gun.

     “Where is Naomi Christiansen?” The man asks, his gun aimed at the floor beside the feet of the man at the front desk. The man, eyes wide, points to her office door, swinging the cops’ attention there and to the trio standing there in the hallway. April freezes, and in a blink, she is darting away from the whole scene, slipping out a back door into the blazing sunlight. A couple of cops from the back ranks take off after her, and that is the last Cas sees of any of them. April’s male counterpart, however, is still frozen in place, and soon, he is handcuffed and told that he is under arrest. The rest of the cops filter throughout the building, pulling out victims and abusers alike, taking them all aside for questioning. 

     Cas gives his statement, “group of rapists and terrorists,” watches Naomi be dragged out, screaming and struggling and cuffed, and decides that he has seen enough. He leaves quickly, and driving away, he realizes that putting them in jail, tearing the whole operation down, getting his justice…it doesn't feel nearly as good as Dean’s hands on him, Dean’s lips on his. 

     As the miles between him and the clinic stretch on and on, Cas grows angrier and angrier until his foot is lead against the floor. His phone rings three hours into his ninety-mile-an-hour trek, but he barely hears it. The next time it rings, he manages to answer, but he barely hears the person on the other side. It takes Gabriel calling his name several times for Cas to pay attention and respond.

     “What?” he asks, voice sharp with his anger at his mother. Gabriel sighs.

     “Where are you?” Gabe asks, his voice tired.

     “Going to pay our dear mother a visit,” he growls, heart beating hard in his chest. He is doing everything he knows to do to keep his anger hot and here and at the forefront of his mind. If he lets the anger leave, all he’ll be left with is the unavoidable hurt of Dean leaving him, the ache of being left completely alone, and the raw pain of knowing his mother betrayed him again. So yes, he keeps his anger hot.

     “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Casserella,” Gabe says, voice heavy through the phone.

     “Yeah. Why not?” Cas challenges, his foot heavying on the accelerator. 

     “Because it will upset her if you go yelling at her,” Gabe says, and Cas scoffs. 

     “I think she can stand a _little upset_ , given what she did to me.”

      “Cas, turn the car around. Come home.” Cas can practically feel the roll of Gabe’s eyes. Cas’ mouth sets in defiance; his foot heavies on the pedal. 

     “You were the one telling me to get revenge, to not ‘let her get away with’ tearing me and Dean apart twice. Why are you changing your mind? Are you on _her_ side now?” Cas’ voice is hard, snarling the words like the ultimate insult, but Gabe’s voice comes back just as hard. 

      “No, I’m not on her _side_ , you idiot, but it will _upset_ her,” Gabe says again, stressing the word harder this time, and Cas snorts. 

     “ _Upset_ her? _Really?_ Is that supposed to bother me? She ruined my goddamn life.” Gabe says nothing, not that Cas would have let him anyway. Just as soon as he finishes, his chest starts heaving, and he knows if he doesn’t fan the anger, the hurt will come. “I had a real good fucking life with Dean,” he hisses, fanning the anger. “And she went and ruined it. She _destroyed_ it. I _loved_ him, and she _put me there_ and—” Cas closes his eyes an instant against the hot and angry tears forming, against the memories threatening to swallow him. Gabe is silent on the other end of the phone. 

     “Mom’s sick, Cas,” Gabe says finally, and Cas snorts.

     “I think she can handle the sniffles _and_ getting what she deserves.”

     “ _No_ , Cas. She’s dying.” Silence. Cas’ heart slams in his chest. It’s a truth Gabe has come to know, to accept after their mother told him nearly a month ago. It was a short phone call, a short trip back home, and a quiet acceptance. Cas, on the other hand, Cas is choking on the news.

     “She’s not dying,” Cas replies, voice sure and defensive. “I just saw her. She was fine.”

     “When?”

     “When what?”

     “When was the last time you saw her?” 

     “I don’t know, April?” It is now September. 

     “Yeah,” Gabe says, and Cas frowns. “It didn’t hit her until June. She thought it was just a cold. It probably was, at first.” 

     “But she...” Cas starts finally, eyes still glued to the road. His voice is incredibly small. 

     “AIDS,” Gabe says, because that’s really what Cas was really trying to say. “Incredible irony, in my opinion.” Gabe’s voice falls flat, because despite every awful and horrific thing she’s done, she’s still their mother. 

     “How did it happen?” Cas asks, and he can practically feel Gabe shrug. 

     “Dirty needle, dirty sex, dirty blood, who knows. She’s probably been infected for years with no idea.” Cas says nothing, just stares at the road ahead. He’s still got miles and miles to go before he gets to her, and the anger is still hot and present, fighting like hell for the forefront of his attention. He knows that if he thinks about how much he still loves her, the anger will lose, and he will not make it back home. 

     “It doesn’t change anything,” he says finally, softly. 

     “It shouldn’t,” Gabe replies. “But it does. Be angry if you want, but you know you won’t stay that way.”

     “I’ll be back soon,” Cas replies eventually. He is careful not to say the word home. 

* * *

     When he reaches that old house on Sceadan street, he expects to find his mother the same as when he last saw her, chunky, covered in too much make-up, self-righteous grin. Granted, it has been nearly six months since he has last seen her, and Gabe said she had faded quickly. When he opens the front door—didn’t bother knocking—he finds her sitting at the dining table, pictures spread out before her. She looks up when he enters, and Cas looks down to the pictures. 

     The first one he sees is one of him and Dean, both decked out in their respective sports gear. Dean has his arm thrown around Cas’ shoulders, and Cas grips Dean’s wrist, bent over slightly in mid-laugh. His heart twists, and Cas looks back up to his mother. She looks bad, pale, cheeks hollows, hair thin and brittle. Cas chokes back the terror at seeing her like this and squares his shoulders. 

     “We need to talk,” Cas declares, and the small smile gracing his mother’s lips falls. 

     “What about?” she responds, her lips cracked and smearing blood around as she speaks. 

     “You know what about.” She says nothing, merely folds the photo album back up, pushes it to the side. 

     “I never knew how much he meant to you,” she says finally, voice shaking. She stands unsteadily, leaning on the chair to keep from falling over. Tears spring to Cas’ eyes, and again he tries to fan the flames of his anger, anything to keep from breaking down. 

     “Of course you did,” he spits. “I _told_ you what he meant to me.” She is watching him with wide eyes, lips trembling as she takes him in. 

     “I’m so sorry, Cas,” she murmurs, reaching a hand out and cupping his cheek. _Fan the flames,_ he reminds himself, but he doesn’t have the heart to pull away from her. 

     “Why are you doing this?” he asks, voice desperate. He doesn’t want this to be happening. This cannot be happening. “You’re the one who sent me there in the first place, the one who told Naomi about us getting back together! You _ruined_ it for me and Dean!” He puts a hand over hers, grips tightly, shakes it to show that he’s serious. The first tear falls. 

     “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, thumb brushing his cheek as much as she can manage with his hand clenched around hers. “That was before I knew. I just wanted what I thought was best for you, just wanted you to have a happy, normal life.”

     “I _was_ happy,” he screeches, his voice breaking. His mother is dying. _Fan the flames._ “She sent those stupid letters and his wife took their daughter and now he won’t even see me! Was it worth it, Mom?” he spits, the tears falling faster. 

     “No. I’d take it all back if I could,” she murmurs, her own voice trembling. “I should never have called her, never have sent you to that place, never have told Dean’s dad. I should never have thought you were _less_ just because you loved him.” He closes his eyes to her words, drops her hand, turns away from her. He chews his lip to keep from sobbing, breaking right there in the middle of his childhood home. “I should have baked you a pie the day I walked in on you two together. I should have hugged you, congratulated you on what you had with Dean.” She lets out something between a whimper and a cough, and a sob chases its way out of Cas’ chest. “I’m so sorry, Cassie,” she says, and that is it. He begins sobbing, wailing until his face is being pressed against his mom’s shoulder. 

     “Don’t go, mom,” he pleads, sobbing against her. She strokes his hair and shushes him, tears of her own streaking down her cheeks. 

     “I’m sorry it took _this_ for me to see how wrong I was,” she says into his hair, her fingers combing softly through the bed head, stained with tears and sleep and lack of both. “I will _never_ forgive myself,” she says, and he sobs harder, clinging tight to her frailing frame. He doesn’t want her to die with this burden. He wants to make it all better with Dean, show her that it’s okay, that what she did can be fixed, that there is hope for them yet. But he knows better. He has never seen Dean so set on anything in his life. 

     “What am I supposed to do?” he sobs, gripping his mother, refusing to let her go. 

     “You’re supposed to thrive,” she murmurs, but he does not stop crying.

* * *

     He stays there that night, sleeps like a baby in his childhood bed for nearly thirteen hours. Cas figures the next morning that thirteen hours of sleep is exactly what he needed. Even so, when he wakes up, he lies there for a while, taking in the hell-storm that is his life. He picks up his phone, not expecting Dean to answer, and He doesn’t. Cas could leave some pitiful voicemail. 

     “Dean, please, I need you. My mom is dying, and you are my whole world, and I need you need. Please, I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you,” but he doesn’t. It wouldn’t be fair of him to do that, to guilt Dean into talking to him. Even so, he keeps his phone in his hand for the rest of the day, praying that _this time_ Dean will call back. 

     He never does.

     Cas spends the day with his mother. It takes a lot to keep from seeing heartbreak every time he looks at her, and it takes a lot to keep from seeing her illness every time he looks at her. It takes a lot to keep himself from hating her, but it takes even more to keep the sadness at bay, _anything_ to keep the devouring, aching hurt away from him. He fails sometimes, fails while watching her struggle to open the milk, fails while dodging yet another call from Gabe. His biggest failure hits him when searching his old desk drawers for a piece of paper. Instead, he finds the street sign. He lifts it out of the drawer gingerly, cradling it like it is a small child. He runs his fingers over the chipped, dusty letters, heart slamming in his chest. He traces out Dean’s name first, then his own. 

     This time when he calls, it rings only twice before going to voicemail, showing that Dean saw the call…and pressed ignore. This time, when he calls, he hears Dean’s voice apologizing, telling him to leave a name and message, that he’ll get back to him as soon as possible. Cas doubts that, but he leaves a message anyway. 

     “Hey, Dean,” he murmurs, fingers tracing over the letters again. “It’s, uh, it’s Cas…but you knew that. Caller ID and what not…” Silence, Cas’ heart beats once, twice, and a third time. “I just…I’m sorry, Dean. I really would like to see you, talk to you, explain.” Cas chews his lip, fighting back the ache and the tears and the need to tell Dean everything. Another moment of silence, another beat of Cas’ heart. “Please, Dean, I love yo—” but a beep in his ear tells him his time is up. He sighs, considers deleting the message, but hangs up knowing that Dean probably won’t listen to the thing anyway. 

     “Castiel,” his mother calls, voice slightly hollowed, worn by the disease and grief. 

     “Yeah, mom?” he replies, wiping a hand down his face with a weary sigh. 

     “Come eat. I made breakfast.” So Cas puts the sign aside and makes his way into the kitchen to share a meal with his mother. She has cooked pancakes, and Cas eats them slowly, chewing mechanically even though they are the same fluffy, delicious delight from his childhood. The ache is too big to fill with yummy pancakes. 

     “Thanks for breakfast, Mom,” he says finally, scooting his chair away, preparing to stand.

     “Castiel,” she says, freezing him. “Can we talk for a moment?” He watches her slowly, eyebrows raised. 

     “Uh, sure,” he says finally, and she smiles, brittle lips cracking open again, spilling her blood slowly. 

     “Can you,” she hesitates, and Cas waits patiently. “Can you tell me what it was like…being with Dean?” Cas’ mouth hangs open, speechless. 

     “ _Why?_ ” he sputters finally, but his mother only smiles.

     “I’m just trying to understand, Cas,” she says. A long moment passes before she smiles softly. “I don’t want to die, but if I have to sometime soon, I want to go understanding why my son feels the way he does. I’ve always understood you, Cas, every step you took, I knew why you did it, and I loved that about our relationship. The one thing I could never quite grasp was Dean Winchester.” She reaches out a hand to him, her palm up, fingers waiting to meet Cas’. “I’d like to understand, Cas.” Cas watches her, gauging her sincerity. Then he puts his hand in hers.

     “What do you want to know?” he asks, and she smiles. 

     “Well, I guess, why him? The other…boys you... _picked_...were, well, reasonable, for lack of a better word. Uriel was the mayor’s son, Alfie was an honor’s student, but Dean…Dean was the son of a drunk, a drop-out. What made you want to be with _him?_ ” 

     “Dean’s funny,” Cas says softly. “He’s always known exactly what to say to make me forget about the things I didn’t want to think about. Not only that, but he’s got the biggest heart of anyone I know…I’ve never seen anyone love the way he loves.” 

     “He _was_ always very protective of you,” she admits softly, squeezing Cas’ fingers. “Was he good to you?” Cas nods, the ache growing wider as he talks more about Him, as he grows to resent his mother less. 

     “The best I’ve ever had,” he replies softly, dropping his eyes. She squeezes his hand again. 

     “Did it…” she clears her throat, drawing his eyes back to hers. She looks embarrassed. “Did it _feel_ good?” she asks, and Cas snorts. 

     “You mean the sex?” he asks, and she nods, cheeks burning with more color than he’s seen in her skin all day. “Yes. It felt very good.” He grins, a small blush lighting his own cheeks as well. He tries not to let the memories of Dean’s hands on him widen the ache. 

     “I’ve always heard it hurt,” she muses softly, looking like she’s talking more to herself than to him. “I mean, I can’t imagine how something up _there_ could feel _good_ ,” and Cas snorts again, giving her hand a small squeeze. 

     “Do you really want me to explain the mechanics of it to you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically, and when her eyes meet his again, he sees a look of sheepish terror in her eyes. 

     “No,” she says. “Not especially. I just…he never _hurt you_ , did he?” she asks, taking on the look of undying concern and fierce protectiveness that only a mother can perfect. 

     “Never,” he assures her, smiling as he squeezes her hand. _Physically, at least_ , he thinks, but does not dare to add. All the emotional hurt was his own fault anyway. No point in damning Dean for that. 

     “And you loved him?” she asks, and Cas can see in her face that part of her wants him to say no. Maybe some part of her still hopes that her son is not gay. Maybe some part of her hopes that her actions can be justified if Cas didn’t love him. Whatever the reason may be, he won’t lie to her. Not now. 

     “Very much,” he replies, and whatever the reason may be, a frown pushes to her lips. He does not ask what the reason is. 

     “And I ruined it?” she asks, and Cas can see in her face that she wants him to say no, that she wants him to reassure her that what has been broken can still be fixed. _Now_ , he will lie to her.

     “No, Mom,” he tells her, squeezing her hand. “ _I_ ruined it.” She offers him a smile that is simultaneously sympathetic and relieved.


	19. Chapter 19

     Cas leaves his mom there eventually, packs up his things—street sign included—and makes the long trek back to Seattle where Dean is, where he will not see Dean. Sam calls again on the drive, but Cas doesn't answer. He is probably only calling to offer him a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to when his undying love for Dean becomes too painful. Cas appreciates the gesture, really, but, he’ll do better to suffer in silence. Cas ignores Gabe’s calls too. They’re probably together anyways, discussing all the ways Cas will need to be babied until his broken heart is healed. Well fuck that, in Cas' opinion.

     He calls Dean again. 

     Dean does not answer. 

     Cas makes it back to Seattle just in time to lay down and sleep for _another_ thirteen hours. He does not talk to Gabriel when he makes it in, nor to Sam. He goes straight to his room and sleeps. He dreams of Dean, of green eyes laughing and freckles hiding in the creases of his smile, and when he wakes, he stares blankly up at the ceiling, heart hammering in his chest. 

     He calls Dean, and Dean does not answer. 

     Eventually, he leaves his room, his bed empty and cold. He is prepared to make his coffee, meet Charlie, discuss the play, keep Dean off his mind. Sam, however, butt-hurt about three days of being ignored, barely allows Cas to get through the coffee part of his plan before he is springing from the bathroom, grip tight on the towel wrapped around his waist, eyes wide and hair dripping, obviously having heard Cas in the kitchen and left his shower to confront him. 

     “Cas,” he shouts, making Cas jerk, splashing his scalding coffee over his hands. 

     “Fuck,” Cas hisses, practically throwing his mug to the counter and reaching for paper towels. 

     “We need to talk,” Sam declares, coming closer, walking swiftly as though Cas will try to run. He is not awake enough to run. 

     “So talk,” Cas says, blotting the coffee off in hopes of saving his hands from blistering. “But make it quick because I have to meet Charlie soon.” That is a lie. Charlie is not expecting him today, but if he tells _that_ to Sam, he’ll likely want Cas here forever to talk about Cas’ frail psyche. 

     “Dean needs you here, Cas,” Sam starts, never one for splitting hairs. 

     “No, he doesn’t,” Cas replies, still rubbing coffee off his hands though he is completely dry now. 

     “Yes, he does, and you know it. Lydia is divorcing him, and her lawyer called me today and said that she was trying to take full custody of Emma. He warned me that I better have a damn good case ready if I wanted Dean to ever see her again.”

     “I don’t know what that has to do with me,” Cas bites slowly, bracing his hands against the counter and squeezing his eyes shut. “I’ve taken enough from him.” 

     “He needs you here to support him, Cas,” Sam says, leaning forward and pressing a hand to the counter beside Cas’. 

     “He won’t even see me, Sam. I can’t do much support through voicemails and locked doors.”

     “He needs to know that you won’t leave too,” Sam insists, eyes wide, and Cas closes his eyes to it, squeezes them shut and tries to will away the tears and the headache and the heartache. 

     “I’m not leaving,” Cas murmurs finally. “I’ll be here as long as he needs me.” 

     “Thank you,” Sam says, and Cas pushes himself away from the counter and leaves without his coffee. He can get some on the way. 

* * *

     Cas works like a maniac over the next week, dives into the play and the production and the pitch and does everything he can to keep his mind off his dying mother and _Dean_ every second of the day. He works 120 hours that week, sleeping little more than six hours a night. It is absolute hell, and he thrives in it. He doesn’t think of his mom, and he doesn't think of Dean…very often, at least. He still dreams of him, still finds himself staring at the grass trying to find the exact shade, still can’t _really_ ignore the gaping, aching hole in his heart. 

     The _play_ , however, does not suffer from his suffering. Because Cas is zealously determined to rid himself of unwanted thoughts, the play is pristine by day three, and Charlie sets up a meeting with several theater executives on day four. He leaves her the talking, and when she comes out of the meeting, she exhales, walks collectedly towards Cas, and jumps into his arms, squealing about casting and release dates and promotionals, and Cas tries to be happy. He really does. 

     When he gets home that night, Gabriel makes him drink to his success, and he finds he does not mind the drinking. He finds, in fact, that the champagne is not nearly enough to _celebrate_. He pours himself a whiskey, downs it, and pours himself another. Day five meets him with a hangover, but he does not mind. The pain keeps the sadness at bay, and by day seven, Sam has fresh news to press into him. 

     “Dean’s court date is in a week,” Sam says, and Cas freezes. 

     “I hope all goes well,” Cas says softly, his heart squirming and aching in his chest. 

     “I’m sure he would really appreciate you being there,” Sam replies, and Cas closes his eyes, shakes his head. 

     “He doesn’t want me there,” Cas reminds, and Sam sighs. 

     “You should go anyway,” Sam says, but Cas doesn’t respond. Of _course_ he's going to go.

* * *

     Dean is tired. He has been tired for three weeks, tired for ten years. Every day, he has woken up, looked over to her, looked over to where his wife should be, and she is never there. It is not her that Dean misses. He never loved _her_ , not like he _should_ love his wife. He only stayed with Lydia for _her_ , for Emma. He only married Lydia for _her,_ for Emma, and now _Emma_ is gone.

     He doesn’t go to her room. He keeps the door shut as if he could contain all the hurt of being without her by containing all of her things. He showers, heart numb. He dresses, motions mechanical, and when he is finished, he leaves. He turns out the last light in his empty home, climbs into his car, eyes pointedly looking everywhere, _anywhere_ but at the car seat in the back, and makes his way to the garage. Not many cars come in, so he has lots of time to think about just what it means to be completely alone in the world. 

     His thoughts strike the worst reality first: he’s going to lose his daughter. Sam’s a great lawyer and all, but Lydia’s manipulative…cunning. There’s no line she won’t cross to get what she wants. That’s why he’s here in the first place. He made it very clear to her before they ever got together that he wasn’t looking for attachments. She had wanted more than the one night, but they slept together anyway. She _told him_ she was on the pill, and when he found out she was pregnant, he had been _pissed._ She had trapped him, just like _that_ , and he was stuck. He wouldn’t leave her with his child on the way, so he did the only thing he knew to do. He proposed to her. She got what she wanted, and nine months later, he got the love of his life. 

     The wind rattles the tin of the shop walls, and Dean shifts his thoughts. He remembers how he thought of Cas on his wedding day, thought of how different the whole thing would have been. Lydia had insisted they have the wedding before she started to show too much, so the whole thing was wrapped up into three months of planning. She looked beautiful that day, none the less, but Dean was still thinking of Cas. He was standing there in the church, eyes of hundreds of people he didn’t know watching him, surrounded by groomsmen that Lydia had picked—aside from Sam, of course. He stood there, staring down the aisle at the doors in the back, and for an instant, he almost convinced himself that everything up until that moment had been nothing but a twisted dream, that Cas going to the clinic, saying what he said, leaving, wandering the country, his suicide attempt, tearing through woman after woman, man after man, finding the bar in Seattle, being lied to by Lydia, that all of it was some nightmare. He almost convinced himself that he’d blink, and the strangers would disappear, replaced by family and friends, the church would disappear, replaced by the little clearing beside their treehouse, the woman starting her march towards him would disappear, replaced by the dark hair, a dark suit, a pair of smiling blue eyes. But he blinked, and he was still surrounded by strangers, he was still in the church, he was still marrying Lydia instead of Cas. 

     His phone ringing in his pocket snaps him away from his daydreams all together, away from his memories. He sighs and digs it out of his pocket, unsurprised to see it is Cas calling again. He ignores the clench of his heart, and presses ignore. He hangs his head, rubs a hand down his face, and succumbs to the feeling of missing Cas. Ten years have passed, and during that time, he got to a place where he thought he was okay. He thought he was finally over Cas, but then he showed back up, made himself a part of Dean’s life again, made him see that he would _never_ be okay without Cas. But now they’re separated again, and it hurts worse than Dean could have ever imagined. Still, it doesn't hurt as much as losing Emma. Cas' call goes to voicemail. 

     Dean spends the next secession of days in the same hazy state, always a little hungover from the night before, just sober enough to see that he’s turning into John, just drunk enough to see that there’s no way out. He calls Lydia every day, sometimes she answers, sometimes she doesn’t, but it’s always the same conversation. 

     “Lydia, it’s been three weeks. I miss her, please.”

     “No.”

     “Can I at least talk to her?” 

     “She doesn’t want to talk to you, Dean,” she spits, and Dean always flinches, always presses back the sting of his daughter’s rejection. The days away from her rip him apart from the inside. Sam makes an active effort to see him, either to work on the case or to gauge his emotional stability. Dean makes an active effort to avoid these visits. Dean doesn't want to work on the case; he was already the best dad he knew how to be. If they take his girl away, there was nothing else he could have done. Not only that, but Sam _always_ mentions Cas. 

     “You heard from Cas lately?” he asks through the phone one afternoon, and Dean doesn't miss a beat. 

     “He called this morning.” Dean leaves out that he didn’t answer. 

     “You like the pie? Cas made it,” Sam says a couple days later, watching as the pie Dean was enjoying becomes ruined. 

     “Wonderful,” Dean replies shortly.

     “Did you tell Cas about the case?” Sam asks at dinner one night, knowing full well that Dean hadn’t.

     “Nope,” Dean replies, standing and leaving the room. So yes, Dean avoids Sam, and soon the trial is upon them, pressing down on them all like the weight of summer air, sticky and heavy and omnipresent. 

     He hardly sleeps the week of, and when he finally makes the move to drag himself out of bed in the mornings, he finds his steps heavy, leaden. There is almost always a missed call and a new voicemail from Cas. Dean usually doesn’t listen to the voicemails. It always brings back pain and regret, but as he crawls out of bed the before his court date, he decides the day before he loses his daughter is a great day to be a masochist. Why the hell _not_ listen to it? He doesn’t listen to the new one, though. No, that would be like breaking a diet for a stick of bubble gum. Fuck that. _Go big or go home_ , Dean thinks. If he’s breaking his diet, he’s dining on steak and ordering dessert. He goes back to the voicemails saved from when they were still together. 

     “Hey, baby,” Cas says in the recording, voice chipper and scuffed from the previous night. “You’re probably still asleep, and I envy you that.” Cas sighs mournfully. “I wish I could be there with you,” he continues softly, and Dean clenches his eyes shut. “Curled up against your side, watching you dream. You’re always so calm looking when you sleep.” Cas laughs a bit, and Dean’s heart clenches. “Anyway, I got that picture you sent last night,” Dean hears the wistful sound of Cas' voice cut to a mischievous glint, sees the picture he's referring to in his mind’s eye. Yes. It was a picture of his penis, hard and hot and aching for Cas. Cas continues, low and throaty in Dean's ear, “I miss seeing you like that, desperate and begging for me.” Dean blushes, willing himself to be disinterested. This is _so_ not the time for the _sexual_ implications of three weeks alone to come rushing back at him. “I’ll have to see what can be done about that,” Cas promises into the phone, drawing Dean back into his worried state. Dean remembers what that voice did to him the first time, how he’d twitched at the promise. “But until then," Cas' voice softens; Dean braces for what's next. "I love you, Dean. Call me back.” Dean pulls the phone away from his ear, presses his head into his hand. He listens to another, one from a couple days later. 

     “Hey, babe,” Cas starts, much the same as before. “I’m in the store, and I don’t remember what you needed other than butter and green onions. Sorry. Give me a call, and let me know what it was. Love you!” And he hangs up. The message is so mundane and everything Dean ever wanted from his life, that he has to take a moment and breathe through the tears rushing him. He sits there in silence for a good while, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, struggling to keep himself together. He opts to listen to one more voicemail, the dessert of his fucked up meal. 

     “Daddy,” this voicemail trills, and Dean chokes back a sob. Emma is the real punishment, the end all of his masochism. He misses her so much that words do nothing but make little of the hurt. “Mama said that I can spend an extra thirty minutes at the park if you cook supper! So _cook_ , Daddy!” his daughter giggles, and he can practically see her, holding her mother’s phone in both hands so she won’t drop it, face flushed from playing outside, eyes sparkling. His heart twists painfully in his chest, and the tears rimming his eyes betray him, fall steadily without permission. 

     “Oh,” Emma continues through the voicemail. “I gotta tell you about the new friend I made today! Her name is Claire, and she’s super funny. She brought a grumpy cat to show and tell! Isn’t that silly?” She giggles again, and the world around Dean blurs with tears until he can see nothing. “I gotta go now. Can’t spend all my thirty minutes on the phone! I love you to the moon and stars and back a million times!” and the line clicks dead between Dean and his daughter, and he misses her so goddamn much. It has been a month and a half and Lydia will not let him see her. He’s tried everything he knew to try, starting with her daycare. 

     “Mr. Winchester, I cannot let you see her,” the woman at the front desk said when he’d shown up at the daycare to see her. There was an undeniable sorrow in her eyes when she spoke. “I know you aren't a bad dad, but her mom and teacher have agreed that you shouldn't see her.” 

     “That’s bullshit,” he’d replied quietly, tears in his eyes.

     “I’m sorry,” she had said, and he left. He sent Sam the next day, hoping _he'd_ be able to sign her out and see her for just a moment. 

     “Emma didn't come in today,” the woman had said, and when Sam had told Dean he’d been on his phone for an hour calling Lydia and Lydia’s office and Lydia’s favorite coffee shop and anywhere else he thought he might find her. When he finally managed to get her on the phone, he’d almost cried with relief. 

     “Lydia,” he’d said, and she sighed. “Please, I need to see her.” Dean’s voice was almost as sob, and Lydia had sighed again. 

     “No,” she’d replied shortly, and Dean had nearly choked. He wanted to argue, thought about causing a scene, realized ultimately that there was nothing he could do to change her mind. 

     “Don’t you let her get sick,” he’d snarled finally, voice wrecked with tears he would not let fall. “Make sure she wears her jacket. You know how she hates to do it, but _make her_ , and don’t let her go to bed with her hair wet, especially not if the windows are open like she likes.” After that, Dean did not have control over his tears any longer. They were falling without his permission, staining his shirt and clearing tracks of motor oil from his face. “I swear to God, if you let her get hurt,” he threatens emptily, voice shaky and as far from menacing as imaginable. “Please, just tell her I love her,” he begged her, his heart breaking in his chest. Lydia hung up after that, and Dean had stayed hunched in his office, sobbing for his little girl until his boss came in asking what was up. 

     Dean, after that, had barely made it in to work day after day. He barely made it out of bed day after day. After a while, he just…shut down. He did everything he could to keep Emma off his mind, everything he knew how to keep Cas off his mind. It’s been difficult, considering the rapid fire phone calls Cas keeps sending his way, and each one sends a painful twist through his chest. 

     He doesn’t want it to be this way with Cas. He wants to have his daughter and the man he loves there with him, but Cas fucked it up, got his daughter taken from him, and as much as he wishes there were, nothing short of a miracle will make Dean able to forgive Cas. 

     Dean hangs up the phone, puts the voicemails away. He barely leaves his bed that day, doesn’t leave the house at all. 

     The trial begins at ten the next morning.

* * *

     No one gets very much sleep the night before the trial, especially, not in the Milton/Winchester apartment. Gabriel spends his night drinking and drowning his sorrows—though _his_ life looks pretty good from where _Cas_ is sitting. Sam spends his night running through the main points of Dean’s defense, then whittling down to the details and the facts of the situation. Cas spends his night alone in his room. He thinks of Dean, of what may happen when they see each other, of what he might say to Dean to make it right. 

     He always draws up a blank; the only emotion he's been able to process is the harrowing guilt that has been eating him hollow for the past month and a half. If Dean ever agrees to talk to him again, Cas doesn’t know how he’ll be able to sputter anything other than _I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._ The guilt is even worse than _before_. At least all those years ago, he only hurt Dean—not that that is ever okay—but now, he’s made sure the single most important person to Dean is refused the right to see him. Cas has taken the only thing Dean loves, and he may never forgive himself. 

     Even so, he will be there for Dean, will sit in the back of that dumb courtroom, dressed up in his best suit and waiting for the judge to say one way or the other. He will not sleep the night before though, and he knows that. He knows that, so he doesn’t fight it. Rather than tossing and turning all night, he sits up against his headboard (straight in the middle of his bed to pretend the emptiness beside him isn’t quite so large), and binge watches Netflix. Around four o’clock that morning, the apartment lulls, no more clinking glasses from the room next door, no more shuffling papers from the living room, no more Netflix playing softly in front of Cas.

     He doesn’t sleep, but he likes the calm and the chaos of the silence. When light begins to break the horizon, he pulls himself out of bed, showers, and leaves before anyone else is even awake. He stops at that old bar, the one that listened in on their sloppy reunion. Cas, as he gets out of his car, realizes that he was too busy looking at _Dean_ to look at the _building_ the first time around. He sees now that it is broken: crumbling brick, smoke-stained windows, and roof, bowed right over the heart of the place. 

     Cas thinks it’s fitting. 

     The sign out front says _closed_ , but the door swings open when he pulls on it. The waitress from that very day barely glances at him when the bell above the door alerts her to his presence. 

     “Sorry, buddy,” she says, wiping down the bar with a steady hand. “We’re closed ‘til ten,” but when she offers him her full attention, she pauses, a grin stretching across her face. “Hey, it’s Juliet!” she exclaims, straightening up and waving at him.

     “Uh…it’s Cas?” He replies, and she grins, waves him off.

     “Nevermind. How’s it going?” She smiles at him, leaning against the counter. He watches her a moment, remembers the days when he would have hit on her to prove his heterosexuality. 

     “You don't really want to hear about some stranger’s problems,” Cas says with a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. Her smile slips a bit.

     “Sure I do. It's part of the job.” She offers him a small smile. “Can I get you a coffee? Soda?” Cas starts to decline, then he hears the ghost of himself screaming at Dean all those weeks ago.

     “Because I fucking love you, okay!?” he had screamed, chest heaving. “It’s been ten goddamn years, and _I fucking love you._ ” 

     Cas hears himself saying this, a million moments ago, and he nods at the girl.

     “Coffee please, and put a shot of something strong in it, if you don’t mind.” 

     “You got it,” she says, turning to the bar. Cas sits, watching as her deft hands turn the coffee on to brew. “So tell me, what’s a guy like you doing in a bar at nine o’clock in the morning, asking for coffee and the hard stuff?” Cas offers her a wry grin.

     “Romeo realized that Juliet wasn’t good for him,” he says simply, the ache in his chest sharp and prominent. 

     “Seriously?” the girl asks, pausing as she reaches for Cas a coffee cup. Her eyes look sad. “You guys seemed like you had a lot of history.” 

     “We do,” he agrees, watching as she continues her trajectory, pours him a cup, pours in a shot. “We were best friends from kindergarten to senior year.” She passes him the coffee, and he takes a long drink, feeling the burn of the heat and the burn of the liquor. “He kissed me in some stupid play we were in, and we were inseparable after that. I loved him more than I’ve ever loved anything...but I hurt him. I hurt him really bad, and we spent ten years pretending we didn’t need the other. When we finally saw each other again…well, you witnessed that, can imagine all the sex after.” The girl snorts, and Cas smiles, wishing he hadn’t said it. Saying it means remembering, means reliving the joy and consequently, the heartache. 

     “So, did my nosy little ears witness something about Romeo—sorry what’s his name?”

     “Dean,” Cas supplies, and she nods. 

     “Dean, right, did I hear something about Dean being married?”

     “Hence, why we’re where we are today,” Cas replies with a nod. He throws back another hot swallow. 

     “Sorry, man,” she replies with a sorrowful smile. “He didn’t want to leave his spouse?” she asks, and Cas scoffs. 

     “Actually, she caught me and him together. Left him.” The girl pauses. 

     “Okay, now I’m lost,” she admits, and Cas forces out a hollow laugh. The ache is beginning to dull. Another cup or two of this _coffee_ , and he may be able to get through the day without wanting to crawl into a hole and die. 

     “ _She took their daughter_ and left,” he explains, and the girl’s face clears. 

     “Oh,” she says, stretching out the word to follow her understanding. “That makes more sense. So his wife took their daughter, and he blames you?” Cas nods. He tosses back the rest of his coffee. “That’s rough,” she says, and Cas nods again. 

     “His wife’s divorcing him, trying for total custody. His trial is today.”

     “That why you’re dressed all snappy?” she asks, offering him another coffee, one that he accepts. 

     “Yep,” he replies after she slides his cup back full again, this time, more alcohol, less coffee. “His brother coerced me into going. Dean probably won’t want me there, but ya know…Might as well see the fire I lit burn Dean to ashes.” He takes a big swallow of his coffee. The ache burns bright in his chest. 

     “So what are you going to do?” she asks, watching him slowly. 

     “What is there to do?” 

     She does not answer. 

     They sit in silence for a while, Cas staring at her, the girl staring back until she offers him one last sorrowful smile before turning and continuing her routine of opening up the bar. He finishes his drink, drops a twenty on the bar, and leaves without another word.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Dean's attempt, as well as child abuse, and non-con drug usage.

     As Cas pulls up to the courthouse, he spots Gabriel sitting on a bench outside, but the Winchesters are nowhere to be seen. Gabriel looks nice, dressed in a pair of pressed khakis and a sweater with honest-to-God elbow patches. Cas would laugh if he didn’t feel so sick. It just hit him all of a sudden, that he has cost Dean everything, and today will be the day that he watches it all unfold. 

     “Where’s Dean?” Cas asks, because Dean is all that matters. 

     “Him and Sam ran off to have a pow-wow.”

     “What?” Cas asks, narrowing his eyes at Gabe. He just shrugs and stands before Cas.

     “Apparently, Lydia’s lawyer sprung some surprise tactic on Sam and Dean, so they’re trying to find out the legality of it.”

     “Well what was the tactic?” Cas asks, and again, Gabe shrugs. 

     “No idea. I guess we’ll see. Trial starts in seven minutes.” Gabe waves an arm towards the door, so Cas sighs and pulls it open. They find a seat in the middle, just close enough that he can see the sweat beading under Sam’s collar, but far enough so that the words Dean is whispering feverishly to his brother cannot be heard. _Dean looks good_ , Cas thinks, but who can blame him? Dean is dressed in a suit perfectly tailored to every inch of his body. The lavender of his dress shirt brings out the green of his eyes, and Cas’ heart aches for him. He wants nothing more than to go up and hug him, to kiss the worry from between his brow, to take away the pain _he_ caused. 

     He can’t though. There’s nothing he can do but take his seat and wait. 

     “You smell like a bar,” Gabe comments as they sit side by side behind the brothers. Cas sighs and rolls his eyes. 

     “Needed a little liquid courage to watch the man I love lose everything he cares about,” Cas replies shortly. Gabe says nothing, and Cas looks around. The room is mostly empty, a couple sitting behind Lydia, likely her parents, and a couple behind Cas and Gabe sitting with a young woman. Cas turns slightly to get a better look at them, and when he does, he flashes back to the Fourth of July at fourteen. 

      _They sit in Dean’s living room on opposite ends of the couch, a habit at Dean’s house where John is liable to walk in at any moment. Sam sits on the floor between them, grinning at the TV as it plays reruns of_ The Sandlot _. The older boys are watching too, but they are also hypervigilant with the sounds coming from the road. They are waiting for Bobby, and when the sound of tire on asphalt drowns out Sam’s TV fireworks, Dean and Cas jump to their feet, racing to the door._

      _“Come on, Sammy,” Dean calls, catching ahold of Cas’ wrist and pulling him along faster. They are both giddy, laughing as they crawl into the bed of Bobby’s truck. Sam sits up front beside Bobby, and the older boys ride the whole way watching fireworks play in the sky, huddling together to keep the wind away, huddling together because even at fourteen, there is no one they’d rather be with._

      _When they get to Bobby’s, Ellen greets them at the door with warm smiles and hugs for all three. Cas and Dean offer her their hugs before running past her into the house and out to the backyard. They just hear Sam begging to help make the burgers, and Cas knows it’s just because they’re squishy and gross feeling. Cas smiles and follows Dean. They run around in the backyard doing what fourteen-year-old boys do until Bobby announces that dinner is ready, to sit their butts down and eat. He passes Cas his burger first and smiles at him, eyes warm and open._

     Cas blinks, staring at the man sitting behind them. That moment was the first time Cas realized he had a family outside of his own, and thirteen years later, staring at Bobby staring back at him, he isn’t sure if that family is still there. The instant Cas realizes Bobby is looking back at him, Ellen to his side, and who must be Jo at hers, a wave of drowning guilt crashes into him. He opens his mouth, maybe to scream an apology, maybe to push out more silence, but either way, he is interrupted, and the moment passes.

     “All rise,” the bailiff says to signal the judge’s entrance, and everyone stands. Cas looks away from Bobby to look at Dean. He fidgets with his jacket, and Cas’ first instinct to take Dean’s hands in his, to calm the fidgeting. Be that as it may, he will not be afforded that luxury today…maybe ever again. 

     “Alright, alright,” the judge says as she takes her place behind the bench. “Go on, sit down,” so everyone sits. She takes a look at her case file and glances at the plaintiff and defendant. “Alright, let’s get this party started.” She pauses, clasps her hands before her and looks around the room. “I’m Judge Mills,” she says, looking at Dean straight in the face, watching him with narrowed eyes. “And I do things a little differently in my courtroom. Now, I understand that you, Mrs. Winchester,” but Lydia interrupts her. 

     “Ms.,” she corrects, and Judge Mills pauses, rolls her eyes, and continues.

     “ _Ms._ Winchester, am I correct in saying that you are asking for a divorce and full custody of your and Mr. Winchester’s child?” 

     “That’s correct, your honor,” Lydia’s lawyers says, standing and straightening his blazer.

     “And you, Mr. Winchester,” Judge Mills says, turning and looking to Dean. “You are here to dispute custody, but not the divorce?” Dean nods. 

     “Yes ma’am,” he replies politely, and Cas’ heart flips in his chest. It is the first time he’s heard Dean’s voice in weeks. There's no real reason for Cas to be as nervous as he is. It is just Dean standing in front of him, fighting for the only thing he's ever loved. It is just Cas' hands that have done the taking. It is just the entirety of their life together unfolding into nothingness. Cas watches the judge, praying to whatever powers may be that she is just, that she sees how much Dean deserves his daughter. 

     "Okay, well since you both agree on the divorce, it's official. You're now divorced. Irreconcilable differences, I presume," she asks, holding the forms in her hand. 

     "He was cheating on me with another man," Lydia replies sharply, and Judge Mills raises her eyebrows, turns to Dean. 

     "Is that true?" she asks, and Dean's eyes fall. Cas' face flames. 

     "Yes, your honor," he replies softly. 

     "Well," she continues, turning her eyes from Dean. "I guess that doesn't change the state of your divorce," she replies with a small shrug. "However, it is something to consider when discussing the next matter in today's trial. It says here that you're also trying for total custody of your daughter. Is that accurate?"

     "Yes, your honor," Sam replies, standing up and taking the ball from Dean. "My client,"

     "Your brother," Lydia interrupts, only to be shushed by both her lawyer and Judge Mills. She quiets and sulks. 

     "Please continue, Mr. Winchester," she urges, waving to Sam. 

     "My client believes Emma would be best benefited by living solely with him." Cas clenches his hands together, knowing that this is where the trouble really lies. 

     "And why is that?" the judge prompts, leaning forward a bit to scrutinize him. 

     "My client has a steady income large enough to sufficiently provide for both himself and his daughter, as well as the house that she has grown up in and attached to all of her fond memories. Aside from the physical aspects of what he can provide for his daughter, he is a responsible, nurturing, and capable parent." 

     "I see," the judge replies before turning to Lydia and her lawyer. "And why do you think the child would be better suited to live with you?" Lydia's lawyer stands again.

     "My client, as well as having all of the attributes that Mr. Winchester claims his brother has, has reason to believe that Dean Winchester is an unfit father. May I present evidence to the court?" he asks, and the judge rolls her eyes.

     "There is no jury here," she says, reaching her hand out for the packet Lydia's lawyer is holding. 

     "In that packet, you'll find pictures of their daughter three days after they escaped Mr. Winchester's clutches." Cas watches Dean turn to Sam in a confused panic. _What is that?_ Cas sees Dean mouth to his brother. Sam's eyes are straight ahead though, watching with determination as the judge tears open the packet. She pulls out a handful of pictures, eyes narrowed as she looks at them. Lydia's lawyer continues. "You will see bruises along her arms, legs, buttocks, and back. Notice they are yellowed, faded, like they had been settling beneath her skin well before Ms. Winchester had taken her from him." 

     "Objection, your honor," Sam calls, standing but pausing when the judge's eyes flick to his. Cas' heart beats wildly in his chest. Anger courses through his veins. Dean would never hurt Emma. There's just no way. 

     "Overruled. I'd like to hear Mr. Winchester's explanation of these bruises.” Her eyebrow's raise as she waits. "Well?" 

     "Explanation? I don't have one! I didn't put those bruises on my daughter. I would never hurt her."

     "No, if we're going to do this, we've gotta do it right. Come on. Get up on the stand." Dean's eyes widen, but Sam elbows him, and he stands. The bailiff leads him around to the witness stand, and when Dean is sworn in and sits, Cas takes a wide sweep of his face. There's fear. There's anger. All of that's only reasonable, and when his eyes lock with Cas', Cas tries to convince himself that what he sees isn't relief. There's no reason for Dean to be relieved to see him. 

     "I don't know how those bruises got there," Dean says again. "I love my daughter so, _so_ much. Even the fact that she _had_ those bruises makes me hurt.” 

     "So how do you think they got there?" Judge Mills asks, and Dean fights his urge to blame Lydia. She's already making this whole thing hard, no need to give her a reason to. 

     "She's a clumsy kid, maybe she slipped." 

     "And landed on her butt. And arm. And leg. And back? I think not Mr. Winchester," Lydia's lawyer quips, and Cas sees Dean's fists clench where they sit on his lap. 

     "I would _never_."

     "Is it, or is it _not_ true that your father was abusive?" her lawyer asks, and again, Sam stands. 

     "Objection, relevance?" he says, and the judge looks to her lawyer.

     "It is a statistical certainty that adults who were abused as children are more likely to become abusers themselves," he replies, and she looks to Dean. 

     "Please answer, Mr. Winchester," she says, face clearly unsure that she wants to know the answer. 

     "Yes. He was abusive. But I'm not my father. I practically raised my little brother. Ask him. I'm not the kind of man who could ever hit a child, especially not Emma."

     "Okay, fine, Mr. Winchester. Let's say that your daughter fell this time. She was playing on the jungle gym and just-" he mimes playing on the jungle gym and mimes a slip of the hand. "Whoops," he says, and Dean flinches a bit, probably imagining the fall his daughter must have had to warrant bruises like those. "I'll admit. It's possible, but what about next time? Your father was an alcoholic too, right?" 

     "Your honor," Sam starts, but she stops him with a wave of his hand. 

     "Let me guess," she says, talking to Lydia's lawyer. "Some kind of statistical probability?" he nods, and she sighs. "Mr. Winchester, the question. 

     "Yes, my father was a drunk."

     "And was that when the abuse was the worst?" Dean's eyes harden, suddenly realizing where the line of questioning is heading. 

     "Yes," he grits out.

     "And do _you_ drink, Mr. Winchester?" he asks, leaning casually against the stand, and looking deep into Dean's eyes. Cas shifts in anger. 

     "Occasionally," Dean replies tightly, and the man laughs in his face.

     "Define occasionally, because I bet that if we were to go to your home right now, we would fine copious amounts of alcohol."

     "Alright, lawyer, make your point," Judge Mills says, and Cas silently thanks her. 

     "My _point_ is that if Mr. Winchester here is more than an _occasional_ drinker as well as an admitted victim of past abuse, putting a small child in his care would be irresponsible. No, it would be downright deplorable." Judge Mills rolls her eyes. 

     “Get back to the questions, lawyer,” she says, and so he straightens his suit and continues. 

     “Is my client the first partner you’ve cheated on?” he asks, and Dean’s jaw clenches. His eyes flick to Cas, and they are both thinking of Bela, of Lisa. 

     “No,” he replies shortly, and the lawyer nods.

     “That’s what I thought. Sources tell me that you’ve never _not_ cheated on a partner. Is that true?” 

     “Define partner,” Dean bites, and the lawyer smiles.

     “Relationship, Facebook official, boyfriend and girlfriend. Or I guess in your case boyfriend and boyfriend.” The man does a poor job of shielding his disgust, and everyone on Dean’s side tightens, prepares to fight. 

     “Keep it objective, pal,” Judge Mills says to the lawyer, but he just nods and raises his eyebrows expectantly at Dean.

     “Well, to be fair, I haven’t had _too_ many partners. I’m more of a one-hit-wonder kind of guy.”

     “The question, Mr. Winchester,” the lawyer reminds, and Dean drops the smirk. 

     “No. I haven’t been with a partner I haven’t cheated on,” and even though it is a ten-year-old wound, Cas’ heart still aches at the thought of Dean fucking _her_ while He was supposed to be waiting on _him._

     “How much stability do you think that gives your daughter, Mr. Winchester?” 

     "Not very much,” Dean grits, eyes burning like hellfire as he stares at the lawyer. 

     “That’s what I think too. What about your suicide attempt, Mr. Winchester? What kind of stability do you think a dead father is for the girl?” 

     “Your honor,” Sam roars, standing and slamming his hands down to the table. Dean’s eyes flick to Cas, and the ache returns to both of them, pulsing and devouring. Judge Mills says nothing for a long moment, dousing the courtroom in silence. 

     “When was this attempt, Mr. Winchester?” she asks finally, and Sam hangs his head, their eminent loss lying heavy on his shoulders. 

     “About nine years ago,” Dean answers, voice slow, and Cas flinches. He will never not ache over the thought of Dean wanting to die. 

     “I think that's enough questions from Mrs. Winchester," Judge Mills says after another long moment. She misses Lydia mouthing _Ms._ , probably for the better. "Mr. Winchester, do you have any questions for your client?" Sam gathers himself, nods, and rises, going to stand beside Dean who relaxes almost immediately at his closeness. 

     "So, you mentioned how you raised me. What was that like?”

     "You were a good kid, always trying to help out.”

     "Our dad wasn't around much, yet we're still here, healthy, alive. How did you manage that with a no-show dad?”

     "You mean financially? He pulled in a little cash with what odd jobs he _could_ hold down. The rest, Uncle Bobby helped with or I paid for myself.”

     "How many jobs did you have, on average in high school?"

     "Objection, your honor," Lydia's lawyer intervenes, standing back up and waving a wide arm to Sam. "How is this relevant?" The judge raises her eyebrows at Sam, obviously waiting for his answer. 

     "I promise, there's a point to this," Sam assures, offering the judge a small smile. 

     "Alright, answer the question, Mr. Winchester." 

     "Always one, as many as four, when it got really bad." 

     "And when you learned that Lydia was pregnant, what did you do?" Dean's eyebrows pull together, and he is lost. 

     "I asked her to marry me," he replies uncertainly. 

     "Did you love her?" he asks, and the look of confusion on Dean's face deepens. "Just trust me, Dean. Did you love her?" 

     "No," he replies, and Cas sees Lydia's face harden, her jaw clench. 

     "Then why did you want her to marry you?" 

     "It was the right thing to do, to make sure that my child had her father." 

     "So when you began the affair you were having, why didn't you just leave Lydia and be with your partner?" Dean's face clears, and Cas can tell he understands, even if none of the rest of them do. 

     "Because I wanted to make sure that my child had her mother." 

     "So you put Emma's interests above your own?" 

     "I guess, if you want to put it like that." 

     "Just like you always did for me?" 

     "Yes," Dean replies softly, and even from his seat, Cas can see the hope in Dean's eyes. His heart clenches. 

     "And your attempt? What were the circumstances surrounding that?” 

     “I had just gone through a really…nasty breakup. It was stupid though, irrational. I’m glad I failed…” 

     “Have you gotten help since then?” Sam asks, and Dean nods. 

     “I went to therapy for three years and got it under control. I still take antidepressants, but I’m good.” 

     “Would you ever try again?”

     “No. I have too much to live for now.” Sam smiles softly at his brother, an unspoken _I'm glad you failed, too_ , before turning and locking eyes with the Judge. 

     “No further questions, your honor," he says before turning on his heel and heading back for his seat with Dean following closely behind. When they get seated, Judge Mills looks at the brothers, obviously considering carefully. 

     “Bailiff, can you come here for a moment?” she requests, and the man moves forward, putting his ear close to her lips when she begins whispering. The man straightens after a moment, nods at her and leaves out the way Judge Mills entered. The courtroom is silent for a few moments, the judge staring at the defendants, and the defendants staring back, waiting for some kind of cue. When the bailiff returns, he is holding a small child by the hand, one that takes Cas a moment too long to recognize. Dean, however, gasps a bit, tears filling rapidly in his eyes. 

     “Emma,” he murmurs, watching her. She is wearing a frilly purple dress, the choppy bit of hair left from her gum incident now long enough to be pulled back into her bow. Dean’s heart swells, and he wants nothing more than to race over to her and sweep her up into his arms and refuse to ever let her go. She looks scared, and Dean’s heart breaks for her. The bailiff leads her up to the chair where she sits, looking out at the small crowd as she kicks her feet. Her eyes land first on her mother, who she waves at with a smile. Then her attention shifts to the other side of the room, and her eyes land on Dean. The minute she sees him, her whole face lights up, the smile only a child can pull off burning through the whole room. 

     “Daddy,” she exclaims, jumping up and very nearly crawling between the bars to get to him before the bailiff can step in front of her and keep her in her seat. “I wanna see Daddy,” she pouts at the man, little tears forming in her eyes. 

     “Emma, you need to stay there for now,” Dean calls, his voice cracking. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.” 

     “I miss you, Daddy,” she cries, climbing up and peeking around the bailiff’s shoulder to look at Dean. Her arms reach for him, and tears roll down Dean’s face. 

     “I miss you too, bug,” he tells her, the nickname sour on his tongue. “But you need to sit and answer a few questions for now, okay? Can you do that for me?” Her struggling stills a bit, and she looks at him through her wet eyelashes. 

     “Can we get ice cream after?” she asks, and Dean pushes out a broken laugh. 

     “Sure, bug,” he tells her, entirely aware of just how likely it is that she will be taken from him for good before they ever get their ice cream. Even so, she sits down like he asked her to, and Dean puts his head in his hand. Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, feels the sobs shake his shoulders a few times before Dean straightens up and wipes the tears from his cheeks. 

     “Emma,” Judge Mills says, drawing her attention up toward the bench. “Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?” Emma nods, her eyes still red and glassy. “How old are you, Emma?” 

     “Four and a quarter,” she says, and Cas smiles. The child really is precious. Aside from the long, blonde hair that falls in ringlets to her mid-back, she has her dad’s eyes, Lydia’s button nose, and a toothy grin that could melt even the hardest of hearts. 

     “Do you go to school?” 

     “I used to but then Mommy said I didn’t have to anymore ‘cause bad men were trying to get little girls from that school.” Dean scoffs, clearly understanding the metaphor Lydia put out there, eyes wide as he looks over to her. She shrugs unapologetically and looks away. Judge Mills looks at her as well, eyes judging. 

     “Where do you live?” 

     “With my Nini and Grump.” Her little feet begin to kick back and forth again as she tells the names of her grandparents. 

     “What about before that?” 

     “We lived with Daddy at home.” 

     “Did you like that?” 

     “Yes.” 

     “Do you want to go back?” 

     “I miss Daddy,” she says softly, stealing a look at her father. He smiles softly at her. 

     “Would you like living just with your dad sometimes?” Judge Mills looks concernedly down to her, but Emma just grins excitedly. 

     “Yeah! He tells me stories and lets me listen to rock and roll with him and drive Baby when I’m in his lap.” Judge Mills laughs, but her smile is cautious. 

     “Is he ever mean to you?” she asks after a moment, and Emma stops to think. 

     “He makes me eat yucky food sometimes,” she says, sticking out her tongue in disgust, and Dean misses her so much it physically hurts. 

     “Has he ever hit you or your mommy?” Judge Mills asks, and Emma drops her eyes. Dean’s heart drops, terror rising up around him like a flash flood. 

     “No, Emma,” Dean murmurs, only loud enough for Sam to hear. “Don’t lie for her. Tell the truth, baby.” 

     “Sometimes,” Emma whispers, and Dean’s eyes fill with tears. 

     “No,” he murmurs, heart breaking in his chest. 

     “When?” the judge continues despite his breaking heart, and Emma keeps answering her questions. 

     “After he drinks his grown up juice.” 

     “Is that how you got these bruises?” Judge Mills asks, handing the pictures to Emma so she can see. Emma’s lip begins to quiver, just like it always does when she’s about to lie. Judge Mills probably thinks she is being forced to relive traumatic experiences. 

     “Yes,” Emma says quietly, and Judge Mills eyes cut to Dean. She looks sad, like she knows Emma is not telling the truth but is trapped with the reality that she can't prove it. 

     “That’s all, Emma. You can get down now.” Judge Mills’ voice is sad too. Emma slides down off her chair and takes the bailiff’s hand. She starts towards Dean, and when the bailiff starts to pull her away, both father and daughter begin to cry, Dean begging her to be good, to be strong, Emma begging to see her father, to make him take her for ice cream. The bailiff ends up picking her up, kicking and screaming, and taking her back to wherever she was before, probably waiting with her aunt outside. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Dean begins to break. 

     “She’s lying,” he shouts at Judge Mills. “That _bitch_ made my little girl lie so she could have her to herself. She’s lying!” Sam manages to get Dean calmed down enough so that’s he’s not yelling and cursing, but he can’t get his brother to stop crying. He just keeps saying over and over that he can’t lose her. Cas’ heart begins to break, tears lining his eyes as he takes in the agony of Dean’s voice, the brokenness of his posture. 

     “Mrs. Winchester,” Jody Mills starts, and Gabe snickers. 

     “Oh, she’s just doing it to piss her off, now,” he says, but Cas is too busy listening to what the judge is saying to find anything too funny. 

     “Did you, in fact, tell your daughter to lie on the stand today?” 

     “How dare you,” Lydia hisses, her voice sharp and pointy. “Insinuate that I was coercing my daughter to lie about our abuse.” 

     “Fine,” Judge Mills says before she can continue the dramatics any farther. She looks back at Dean. “I’m afraid, Mr. Winchester, that I have no choice.” Dean braces himself; Sam’s shoulder’s fall. They both know he has failed. They all know he has failed. 

     “Wait!” A voice sounds through the room, startling everyone, including Cas, whose mouth hangs open as the word finishes its stay inside. Every eye shifts to him, and his face heats as he realizes what he just did. He swallows hard and rises, ignoring Gabriel low-key telling him to sit the fuck down, ignoring Sam’s wide eyes begging him not to, ignoring everyone but Dean. “He’s not a bad dad,” Cas says finally, looking into His eyes. There is agony, terror, and looking at Cas, _hope_. Cas swallows hard. Continues. “Dean’s not a bad person. He’s the best person I’ve ever met.” 

     “Are you looking to give a testimony?” Judge Mills says, her eyes considering what it would mean. 

     “Yes. Let me tell you what I know about Dean Winchester.” 

     “Bad idea, bro, abort, abort, sit down, Cas,” Gabe is muttering, but Cas is already moving, heading for the witness’ chair. When he sits, he locks eyes with Dean again. 

     “Tell us your name,” Judge Mills says, and Cas swallows the bile in his throat, the terror and the guilt and what little bit of liquid courage he has left in his bloodstream. 

     “Castiel Milton,” Cas says, still looking at Dean. Dean’s mouth hangs open, and Cas tries to tell him how sorry he is just by the look in his eye. What Cas doesn’t see, however, is Lydia’s hushed and frantic conversation with her lawyer. 

     “Objection, your honor,” her lawyer says finally. “He’s the man Mr. Winchester was having his affair with. This is…it’s unethical and completely unprofessional.” 

     “Are you calling _me_ unethical and unprofessional?” 

     “N-no, your honor,” the lawyer stutters, his confidence shattering. 

     “Then sit down. What’s unethical is the fact that I am about _this_ close to taking this man’s daughter away from him based on the testimony of a four-year-old and her manipulative mother. But for now, I’d like to hear what Mr. Milton has to say about his opinions of Dean Winchester.” Lydia and her lawyer wear matching faces of shock and horror. Cas begins anyway. 

     “Where do I start?” he asks, and the judge shrugs a bit. 

     “Where ever you think is most important.” 

     “Well, I’ve known Dean since he was five, and I’ve never, in all of my twenty-eight years, seventeen countries, three degrees, and thousands of faces, met anyone as genuinely _good_ as Dean Winchester. He doesn’t _have_ to be good, but he can’t help it. It’s just who he is. He has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen, loves like the world is ending, even though he doesn’t think he deserves a shred of that love back.” Dean drops Cas’ eyes. 

     “He’s always wanted kids, even when we were ten and drawing our lives in fifteen years, even when we were seventeen and talking about the future. It’s nothing new, and of all of those people I’ve met in my twenty-eight years, seventeen countries, three degrees, and thousands of faces, Dean is the most paternal I’ve ever seen. His instinct to protect and nurture is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” Dean is watching Cas with furrowed brows. He is picturing in some distant part of his mind what their lives _could have_ been like. 

     “And his daughter, _my god,_ the way he loves her. He _never_ shuts up about her.” Dean frowns, clearly asking what Cas is doing. “And yes, we were sleeping together, but that never once resulted in him neglecting his daughter. If she was there and awake, he was there and awake. It wasn't even a question. To be honest, it's unthinkable to me how anyone who has seen the way he speaks of her, the way he loves her, could ever imagine that he could harm or endanger his daughter in any way. He would _never_ hit his daughter. He loves her too much, and he deserves to have her.” When Cas looks up, Judge Mills has a glimmer in her eyes. Cas looks to Sam who wears a small smile. He is too scared to look at Dean. 

     “Thank you, Mr. Milton. You can go back to your seat.” So Cas stands and makes his way back to his seat by Gabriel. “Well,” Judge Mills says, clearing her throat to clear the trembling. “As much as I believe Dean Winchester is a good dad, the fact of the matter is that the child has bruises she says that her father gave her. It's possible that,” but she is cut off by the bailiff rapidly approaching, a piece of paper in his hand. He hands it up to her, and the whole room watches her face get stony as she reads. When she puts the paper down, she folds her hands together before her. 

     “Mr. and Mrs. Winchester,” she starts, and Lydia clenches her jaw at the title. “Your daughter’s tox-screen and blood work just came back, and there is something very, very interesting on it. Do either of you want to guess what?” She looks expectantly to Dean. 

     “I have no idea, your honor.” So she turns to Lydia. 

     “I don’t know, your honor.” 

     “Well then I’ll tell you. Your daughter’s toxin report shows sedatives, and by the decay of the drugs in her system, we can put time of consumption at three weeks ago, around the time you, Mrs. Winchester, claimed to have found the bruises on her.” 

     “He drugged _and_ abused my daughter?” Lydia asks, half scandalized. Judge Mills shakes her head. 

     “No. The report does not match the last time she saw her father. Which means _you_ drugged and abused your daughter." Everyone is stunned still. No one breathes, moves a muscle. Cas can see Lydia's mouth hanging open, Dean's eyes wide and glossy. Judge Mills continues like she hadn't just stunned a whole courtroom. "That means _Mr. Winchester_ gets full custody, and _you_ get jail time. Court dismissed.” She picks up the gavel and bangs it, startling them all and snapping them into the reality that _they won_ , that Dean gets to keep his little girl. 

     Dean gets to keep her. 

     He begins to weep, his joy slamming into him again and again. The bailiff brings Emma back out, and she runs straight into Dean's arms. They clutch each other tightly, Dean barely containing his tears as he holds her, as he apologizes to her again and again for letting what happened happen. Cas smiles, the ache in his chest bittersweet for the love Dean has for his daughter. He's happy. He really is. 

     Cas stands to leave, and now that the custody battle is over, he will pack it all up and go home to his dying mother and empty home. Cas watches Dean for a moment longer, reveling in the joy in His eyes before pulling himself together and turning away. Gabe watches him sadly, knowing what it means now that the court case is over, and follows close on Cas' heels as they exit the room. 

     “Cas!” Cas hears his name on those lips, and what is he to do but pause. He turns after a moment, and standing there, still clutching Emma to his chest, is _Dean._ The guilt of what he almost cost Dean is mostly gone, but Cas is still drowning in the sadness. He's happy for Dean, so he offers him a soft smile. “Thank you,” Dean murmurs after locking eyes with Cas. “If it weren’t for you…” Dean trails off, but Cas knows. His sudden outburst bought the time they needed to get the results and sway the judge's opinion. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.” 

     “It was the only happiness I thought I could give back to you,” Cas says with a sad smile. His eyes say _I’m sorry, I love you, I'm sorry, I love you_ , but his lips only manage to say, “Just hold onto her.” Cas takes in every freckle on Dean’s face, every scar and line and remembers how he’s kissed them all, worshiped them all. When he turns away, there will be no more laughter in the morning, no more warmth at night, no more light in the world.

     Cas knows this is it. 

      “Goodbye, Dean,” he murmurs as he turns away, willing himself _not_ to cry, _not_ to turn around. 

     “Cas,” he hears, but he does not turn. If he turns, he breaks. “Wait. Cas, _please,_ ” and that is all it takes. He waits, of course he does. Whatever Dean wants. Whatever Dean needs, no matter how much it may hurt Cas to wait. He turns slowly. 

     “Yes, Dean,” Cas asks, tears in his eyes because his will is not strong enough to walk away without tears. Before Dean can open his mouth, Emma’s little hand pats against his shoulder, needing him, and Dean tears his eyes away from Cas to look at Emma. 

     “Who’s this, Daddy?” she asks, and Dean glances back at him. 

     “Emma, this is Cas, Daddy’s best friend. Can you say hello?” 

     “Hello,” she offers quietly, and Cas begins crying. He repeats the words, _best friend_ , even as he hears Emma continue to talk to her father. He knows what the words mean. They mean that they can start over. “Why is he crying, Daddy?” she asks after a moment, and Dean smiles at both of them, tears in his own eyes. 

     “Because we’ve been apart for a very long time,” he tells her, brushing her hair back from her face. 

     “Maybe he wants to go get ice cream with us. Ice cream always makes me happy!” Her voice is excited, even as she continues the patting. 

     “That’s a great idea, bug. Cas, do you want to get ice cream with us?” and what can Cas do but push out a broken laugh and nod like his life depends on it. 

     “I would like that very much, Dean,” he says, and Dean smiles. The three of them leave the courthouse together, Emma perched on Dean’s hip, excitedly telling him of all he’s missed in the last three weeks, and Cas walking beside Dean, matching him step for step. 

     Their hands brush as they walk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. Resolution. 
> 
> This is technically the end, you guys. All that's left is the epilogue<3


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussion of Cas' rape and Dean's suicide attempt.

     “No, Daddy! It’s itchy and mean, and I hate it!” Emma stomps her foot, pokes out her pouty lips. 

     “Come on, Emmie. Don’t you want to wear it for Daddy?” She says nothing, just crosses her arms. “For Cassie?” Her face turns sourer, and Dean knows he has won. She raises her arms in defeat, allowing Dean to slip her t-shirt over her head and the dress down her body. 

     “That’s my girl,” Dean praises, giving her tummy a soft squeeze. A knock sounds at the door, and Sam pokes his head in, to which Emma squeals.

     “Uncle Sammy! I’m changing!” she says, scandalized in her childlike way, and Sam huffs a small laugh.

     “Sorry Emma,” he says, stepping inside and turning his back to her so he is preserving her modesty and speaking towards the wall. “They’re ready for you, Dean,” he says, and Dean smiles at his daughter, does up the last of her little pearl buttons and stands. 

     “Can Uncle Sam help you finish?” he asks her, and she nods. 

     “Break a leg, Daddy,” she says, to which Dean gives her a kiss and grins. Sam smiles at him on his way out, allowing him to feel for a moment how far he’s come to make it here. 

     When he gets to the living room, he sees his family there, grinning at him in their suits and dresses. Ellen approaches him first, plants a wet kiss on his cheek and reels back to wipe the lipstick away. He grins at her.

     “I’m glad you could make it,” he tells her, and she laughs. 

     “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she assures him, reaching up and straightening the flower on his lapel. “Jo brought her new boyfriend, so make sure to give him hell, okay?” and Dean laughs again. 

     “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he tells her, and she snorts, releasing him. Bobby steps forward and pushes his hands into his pants pockets.

     “You nervous?” he asks, and Dean shrugs.

     “Not really. Maybe that I’ll fall on my ass, but not about the rest.” Bobby smiles, claps him on shoulder and allows him a moment of silence before he is turning away to round up the rest of the group. 

     “Alright, line up, children,” Bobby says, and they all grumble good-naturedly, shuffling in to their places. Sam shows up just seconds before Bobby asks where he is, Emma on his hip. Ellen hands her the little basket she’ll carry with her, and with her free hand, she reaches for Dean. Dean smiles at her and takes her hand. 

     “You know what to do?” he asks, and she nods excitedly. He smiles and brushes her hair back from her face. “Good. I’ve gotta go. See you soon,” he promises, kisses her forehead, and lets her go. He claps Sam on the back as he passes and pulls open the door with hands that definitely don’t tremble. The fresh air does little to calm him, and he walks quickly past the few people milling about to his place beneath the tree, ignoring all the eyes on him. He stands up there alone for a few moments, breathing deeply and humming with nervous excitement. He’s finally here. 

     The music starts all at once, and suddenly, the little clearing is alive with motion. People are moving for their seats—lawn chairs and barstools and folding chairs—and those who are already sitting straighten, craning their necks to see the slow parade of people coming from the break in the trees. Dean stares out at the faces in the crowd. He can name every single one. 

     Ellen is there, Jo and her boyfriend, even Benny showed up, Andrea on his arm after all these years. Kevin is there too, Garth sitting next to him, and Lisa Braeden next to him. She smiles at Dean, eyes warm, and he smiles back. Everyone he cares about is there, that is, except for John. John got pissy when Lilith didn’t receive an invitation, and even if she had, Dean has a feeling he would have found some other reason not to show up. Dean doesn’t sweat it. 

     Bobby comes down first, Charlie’s arm wrapped around his as she beams, a small bouquet of flowers in her hands. Following Bobby is Sam, Gabriel strolling along next to him, waving to the crowd and reaching for Sam just to embarrass him. Judging by the blush on Sam’s cheeks, it’s working, and Dean laughs, the nervous energy growing as Sam takes his place next to him. Emma comes next, skipping down the path and dropping petals with every step. Her blonde hair bounces as she comes hopping to a stop in front of Sam. There’s just one person left, and as He appears, dark hair a mess, blue eyes wild, Dean can’t help but remember what brought them here in the first place. 

      _”Why are you crying?” someone asks, a soft voice that stands over little six-year-old Dean. Dean pushes his face further into his arms._ Fast forward twenty-three years, the air of a charged courtroom settling around them.

      _“Maybe he wants to go get ice cream with us.” Emma’s tiny voice floats to him, and his heart swells. He does not want Cas to walk away. Emma continues. “Ice cream always makes me happy!”_ and here they are. 

     It was slow after the ice cream. Dean was working through what happened, working through the anger inside of him, and Cas was working through the guilt. They started as friends, kept a careful distance between them at all times. If they were together, Emma was between them or a pillow or least three feet of space. It was _months_ before Dean finally decided he was ready, and Cas, having been waiting patiently the whole time, was tickled pink by the hand alone that Dean slid into his. 

     Cas knew what that small gesture meant for Dean. He knew better than to push, better than to hope for too much. He knew better than to hope for what they used to have. Even so, Cas didn’t mind. Dean was _it_ for him. He didn’t mind the waiting, so long as Dean was happy. Dean went slowly, sure, but with the holding of hands came Dean both offering and accepting hugs, an arm around the shoulder, curling into chests. Still, it was another couple of weeks before Dean felt ready to kiss Cas again. Their third, first kiss was a soft thing, nothing like the fervor of their first, or the mess of their second. It was chaste and ended with Dean pulling away, telling himself that this was safe, that Cas was here to stay. Cas didn’t mind. He was glowing with the soft press of Dean’s lips on his. 

     The next time they kissed, it was Cas who started it. He had just been given the news that his play would open in L.A., and he was absolutely ecstatic. He’d jumped into Dean’s arms, and kissed him before he could think twice about it. Dean’s cheeks had burned, and though he pulled away slowly, his hands lingered on Cas’ waist. After that, Dean had swallowed his discomfort and sat Cas down to talk. 

     “What happened?” he asked, hands linked in Cas’, voice calm. 

     “What are you…?” Cas asked, voice trailing off. 

     “At the clinic, Cas,” Dean murmured, and Cas had stiffened, his eyes suddenly petrified. “Please, Cas. We’ve ignored this, yelled about this, fought about this…Now I just want to talk about this. I want to put it behind us once and for all so that we can be us again.”

     “Dean Winchester wanting to talk,” Cas had tried to joke, voice falling flat, especially when Dean showed no trace of amusement. 

     “Please, Cas.” 

     “I don’t know what you want me to say, Dean…” Cas said, shrugging a bit with wide eyes. “They brainwashed me, pacified me with drugs and therapy, and made me believe that loving you was wrong. I'm sorry. That’s it. I’ve told you.”

     “Cas,” Dean said, leaned forward, cupped Cas’ cheek gently. “Sam told me something bad happened.” 

     “That’s not bad enough?” Cas replied, voice small, Dean’s eyes sad. 

     “That’s not what you’re hiding.” Cas had said nothing for a long moment, just staring at Dean until his eyes burned, demanded he blink, demanded tears form. 

     “I don’t want you to think it excuses me for what I did.”

     “Fine, I won’t forgive you, ever. Does that make you feel better?” Dean asked, trying for a lighter mood and even managing to get Cas to snort. 

     “Yeah, thanks for that,” he replied, and Dean had grinned, brushing his thumb over Cas’ cheekbone. A long moment of silence passed, and Dean let Cas have that moment. Cas spoke again eventually, eyes on their twined hands. “I was raped,” he said finally, hating the feeling of Dean stiffening all over at the words. “And it was horrible and traumatic and in no way excuses things.” 

     “Cas,” Dean had murmured eventually, his voice broken, and Cas couldn’t help but to look up into Dean’s face, look up into the sorrow and hurt. 

     “No, Dean, don’t do that. Please don’t.” Cas closed his eyes to it, closed his eyes to hurting Dean again. Dean’s lips pressed against his, soft and earnest and Cas had choked on the tears. He kept his eyes closed even after Dean pulled away, closed them tighter. 

     “This doesn’t excuse you,” Dean murmured, his lips on the corner of Cas’ mouth, and Cas, eyes still squeezed closed, freed his hand from Dean’s and threw his arm around Dean’s neck, drawing him close to him. Cas pressed his face into Dean’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. _I love you,_ Cas’ thoughts had screamed. _I love you, I love you, I love you. Please don’t go. I need you. I love you. Please, please,_ and Dean held him, let Cas be reminded that everything was okay, that it was all over.

     They eventually talked about things from Dean’s end too. Emma had been asleep between them, her hand pressed into Cas’, Dean’s arm wrapped around them both. They were watching Dr. Sexy, and as Dean grinned, Cas watched him more than the show. 

     “I’m so sorry,” Cas said finally through the darkness, stealing Dean’s attention with three little words. Dean looked over, eyes concerned. 

     “For what?” he had asked, an anxiety growing in his chest with the fear that Cas was about to pack it all up again, that Cas was about to leave again.

     “For what happened after I left,” Cas murmured, and Dean almost instantly relaxed.

     “Cas, we’ve talked about this,” he had reassured, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Everything’s fine. We’re here now, sitting together, Emma safe, watching Dr. Sexy.”

     “No, Dean. That’s not what I mean,” he said, voice low and serious. 

     “Then what?” 

     “Your attempt,” he murmured, and Dean’s heart dropped. 

     “Oh,” he said, dropping his eyes down his sleeping daughter. Her birthday was in three days. He made a mental note to go to the store for cake ingredients the next day.

     “Dean,” Cas murmured, pulling Dean out of his avoidance. “Please, Dean. I need to apologize for that.”

     “It wasn’t your fault, Cas,” Dean said, simply because he really didn’t want to talk about it. Not when everything was going so well.

     “Then why’d you try it?” Cas countered, and Dean dropped his eyes. They both knew why he’d tried it. He’d left Sam back in Kansas and Cas had left _him_. There was nothing left for him.

     “I don’t want to talk about this, Cas,” Dean murmured finally, unwinding his arm from Cas’ shoulders to all but curl in on himself. Sleeping little Emma pulled away from Cas too, curling into Dean’s side and letting out a content huff of air. Dean’s fingers begin brushing through her hair as they often do when he’s anxious. 

     “Please don’t shut me out, Dean,” Cas whispered, reaching out and putting a soft hand against Dean’s knee. Dean looked at the hand, the long, lean fingers he’d worshiped, kissed, held, hated. 

     “It hurt so much,” he said finally, face heating as he remembered. “Thinking you didn’t love me, that Sam didn’t need me. It got to be too much. I mean, I was drinking my life away during the day, and at night, I was sleeping with person after person. And one night, I was drunk off my ass, hitting on this guy that looked so much like you it hurt, and he looked at me, and you know what he says to me? He says, ‘Well aren’t you hot as hell?’ and it wasn't much but I swear to God, I nearly threw up. I got the fuck out of that bar, drove back to the motel I was staying at and spent the rest of the night shaking my way into a full blown panic attack thinking about how nothing would ever be okay without you. And I just kept drinking and drinking until I was finally convinced that there was only one way out…So I did it. 

     “I dug out some Aspirin and well...anyway…I guess it wasn’t enough or maybe it was too many. The next thing I knew, housekeeping was screeching at the top of her lungs and I was lying in a puddle of my own vomit, wondering to myself how I could ever have gotten that low. Sam flew out to see me after that, stayed with me a couple of weeks until I was able to convince him that I was okay, that it was a drunken mistake. It really was, too…It’s not something I’ve even considered since then.” 

     “I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas said again, and Dean looked up to him. There were tears in Cas’ eyes. “I’m so sorry that you ever hurt that much.”

     “I’m okay now, Cas,” Dean reminded softly, looking down to his little girl, curled against his chest, snoring softly. “Really,” and he was. He would continue to be okay too. 

     Him and Cas kept working through things, kept talking and getting closer to where they were before this all happened. Eventually, Dean felt ready to talk about the future, about why he had only kissed Cas a handful of times in the past months they’ve been together. 

     “I’m sorry,” he said one night, and Cas stiffened. Their hands were twined together, and Dean squeezed gently. “I know I’m being weird,” Dean continued, and Cas waited for the but, waited for Dean to say, _it’s because I don’t love you anymore_ , but no such news came. “I’m just…It’s taking a long time to work through…what happened.” 

     “I know that, Dean. There’s no rush,” Cas said, visibly relaxing as he reached out and pressed his palm to Dean’s cheek. 

     “You shouldn’t have to wait though,” Dean said softly, and Cas had smiled, his thumb brushing along Dean’s cheeks. “You’ve made your peace and amends, and I’m still stuck in the past.”

     “I don’t mind waiting, Dean,” Cas assured, smile still in place. “Anything for you.”

     “I’m trying, Cas,” Dean said, voice almost desperate. 

     “I know you are,” Cas promised, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Dean’s cheek, right next to his mouth. “And I commend you for that. I’m content to wait.” 

     “Thank you,” Dean said softly, and Cas had smiled. 

     Dean didn’t make Cas wait much longer, though. Dean had mulled over what Cas said, mulled over everything that had happened, from the very first kiss to all the places it broke apart to where they are now, and he finally came to the conclusion that he loved Cas, more than he’s ever loved anything. He _wanted Cas_ , no matter what, in any way that Cas was willing to give himself, and if he was willing to give himself as Dean’s lover, Dean realized he was more than happy to accept him as such. 

     When they finally got back together, sexually, that is, they still went slow, however, not because of the past pressing around them. They went slow because they _could_ , because there was no mother to hide from, no wife to beat home. They went slow because they had all the time in the world and lots of time to make up for. The love they made was deliberate and hungry and revering. It was like coming home. 

     Since that day, they’ve had a million moments of reverence, of remembrance. Cas was soon moved into Dean’s house, but they bought a new bed, one that had never been used by anyone else, one that only _they_ could soil and ruin. It made Cas feel better, more at home, but nothing made him feel quite as at home as when Emma crawled into his lap and curled up against his chest, her little hand patting over his chest. 

     “Are you and Daddy going to get married?” she asked, and Cas held her close. Dean, swaying softly in the kitchen as he washed dinner’s dishes, paused and glanced at them. 

     “I don’t know,” he told her, and she sighed contentedly. 

     “I hope you do. I want you to be my daddy too,” she said, and his heart swelled up as he stared down at her. Dean smiled from the kitchen, eyes warm and open. 

     “I would like that very much,” he replied, and soon, she was asleep. Later, after they put her in her bed, Dean reeled Cas close and nuzzled behind his ear. 

     “I love you, Cas,” he said, and Cas smiled. 

     “You know I love you too,” he replied, and they went to _their_ bed, curled up around each other, and slept. After that, Emma became as much Cas’ daughter as she was Dean’s. He was fiercely protective of her, endlessly compassionate, kissing her scraped knees and playing lava floor with her. He would even read to her sometimes, though that was normally Dean’s jurisdiction. 

     A notable exception to this was a nuisance wreck the day before and a one hundred dollar tip that had Dean stuck late at the shop fixing some lawyer’s smashed front bumper while Poor Emma had no one to read to her. Dean called, told Cas he would be late and asked if he would be okay there with dinner and Emma. Cas had laughed, told him he loved him, told him goodbye. 

     When Dean got home that night, he found his dinner in the microwave, the dishes washed, and Cas and Emma nowhere to be found. He walked down the hall towards Emma’s room, but paused when he heard _Peter Pan_ being read in Cas’ gravely voice. He smiled, half-stepped forward, but paused again when he heard Cas contort his voice into a piss-poor impression of a pirate. He was doing silly voices for Hook, and Dean almost asked the man to marry him right then and there. His heart thudded in his chest, and he knew that Cas was it for him. He’d known all along. 

     When Dean actually _did_ ask Cas to marry him, they’d been back home in Kansas, visiting Cas’ mother. She had apologized to Dean, profusely, honestly, and it wasn’t really enough. He still didn’t forgive her for what she did to Cas, but Cas did, so Dean cut her a break. They didn’t go see John while they were there, but they did make a trek out to their old treehouse. The years had grown the trail up, made the wood of the actual house precarious to stand on. Their beanbag chairs had been covered in dust and pine straw and disuse. They still loved the place, and as they took a seat out on their little balcony, staring out at the creek that has remained the same even with all the years and all the moments, Dean decided that he had had quite enough of this slowness. He wrapped an arm around Cas’ waist and pulled him close. Silence passed, contentedness. 

     “Marry me,” Dean said, voice quiet in the silence. He didn’t have a ring, but Cas didn’t seem to mind. 

     “Okay,” he replied softly, heart swelling as he nuzzled closer to Dean. Soon after Dean’s proposal, they went to pick out the rings. They were simple things, strands of gold twisted into a pair of perfectly complimentary rings. Dean kissed Cas’ temple, and they went home, matching rings in corresponding pockets. They told Emma that very night, and she cheered, danced, hugged them both. 

     After the announcement, Cas made dinner while Emma played in the living room. Dean sat on the counter, watching every move Cas made with hungry eyes. Cas knew what they would be doing that night, and as Cas moved about the kitchen, he found himself starving for it. 

     “What are you watching me for, Dean?” Cas asked, though he knew perfectly well, and Dean knew it too. 

     “Oh, I don’t know, _Clarence_ ,” Dean said, stretching out his legs and hooking Cas by the hips. He barely got Cas reeled to him before a shrill shriek broke out from the living room. They both sprung away from each other and into the living room, spouting questions at Emma, trying to pick her up and search her for any signs of harm.

     “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” they asked simultaneously, and Emma squirmed away from their protective grips to stare at them, her little face wide and scandalized. 

     “Nothing’s wrong, Daddy,” she harrumphed, still using all her strength to push Dean and Cas’ hands away. “But _you’re_ Dan," she accused, flinging her pointer finger at Dean before turning to Cas "And _Cassie_ is Clarence!” Dean watched her for a moment before remembering the story from all those months ago, the one that encouraged him and Cas back together to begin with, and Dean grinned. 

     “Yeah, bug,” he told her, looking to Cas’ confused expression before smiling softly. “We are.” She grinned triumphantly at them, before finally wiggling out of Dean’s arms and landing on the floor. 

     “I _told you_ that they would get married,” she said smartly before turning on her heels and marching back into the living room, hands on her hips. 

     “Dan and Clarence,” Cas asked skeptically when she was gone, and Dean smiled. 

     “I told her _our_ story as a bedtime story,” he had explained with a shrug, allowing Cas to raise his eyebrow before kissing him softly. “She told me I shouldn’t let you walk away, so I didn’t.” He tugged Cas even closer, but he did not miss the grin Cas tossed his way.

     “Do you always listen to the judgement of a five-year-old?” he asked, and Dean grinned widely. 

     “Well, it usually coincides with my own five-year-old judgement, so it’s not an issue.” Cas scoffed, rested his forehead against Dean’s. Dinner burned on the stove that night. 

     Months passed, and the pair planned for a fall wedding back home in Kansas, back where they met and fell in love and started it all. Cas’ play premiered in Los Angeles, and Dean sat in the front row with Cas, watching with wonder the play that brought them together. 

     “You know,” Cas whispered at about the halfway point of the play. “The guy they picked to play Frederick’s lover is, while technically trained and a professional, nowhere near as good as the guy _I_ picked,” Cas grinned, offering Dean his hand, and of course Dean took it. 

     “That’s because you were banging the guy _you_ picked,” Dean reminded, squeezing his fingers softly. 

     “I wasn’t, at the time,” Cas said, leaning in close and brushing his lips across Dean’s. 

     “You are now,” Dean replied, voice proud. 

     “I don’t know why,” he replied, to which Dean snorted and turned back to the play. 

     Again, Cas received a standing ovation, to which he stood, bowed, and winked down at Dean. Dean, beneath the pride of seeing Cas, _his_ Cas receiving all the recognition he deserved, wanted nothing more than to tear Cas out of the suit he was wearing and praise him like he deserved to be praised. He was barely able to keep himself together long enough to make the walk back to the limo Charlie insisted they ride in on the night of Cas’ big break. When they were safely tucked inside, Dean had rolled the partition up and sucked Cas down right there in the back of that limo, which of course, made _Dean_ horny as hell. To be fair, Cas sucked him off right back, moaning and groaning around Dean’s cock. 

     When they arrived back at the airport, they were both looking a little wilder, a little less put together, a little lighter. 

     Soon, Dean has no memories left to pick through except the ones pressing in around him, the ones he knows he'll remember for the rest of his life. He is standing at the altar, under a woodsy little archway. On one side of him stands the justice of the peace and on the other, Bobby, his baby brother, and his baby girl. Dean smiles at them, and the crowd all turns. Every eye lands on Cas, strolling down the aisle, black tux fitted perfectly to his lean frame. Dean’s heart slams in his chest.

     Cas catches his eye, and all else fades away. They are alone, Dean and Cas versus the world. Dean stretches out his hand, and Cas fits perfectly, like he always has, like he always will. Dean pulls Cas close, nudges their foreheads together, lives in the small universe made just for them, and finally allows them to be separated by the justice of the peace clearing his throat with a grin. 

     “Alright, guys. You have the rest of your lives to make lovey eyes at each other,” he says, and the crowd laughs. Dean just sees Cas, hears, _the rest of your lives_ , and smiles. 

     The wedding goes exactly according to plan, aside from the giving away of the grooms. When the justice asks who gives Dean away, when Bobby was _supposed_ to step forward, Emma pokes her little head in and speaks loudly and confidently.

     “ _I_ do, your majesty,” she says, and Dean grins down at her, love swelling in his heart. “Oh, and I give Cassie away too because he’s daddy’s bestest friend, and they can’t be apart or he’ll cry. Isn’t that right, Daddy?” Dean smiles down at her and releases one of Cas’ hands to brush over her beaming cheeks.

     “That’s right, bug,” he tells her, and she grins proudly up at them. The justice of the peace laughs a bit.

     “Well, does anyone else want to give these two away?” he asks, and Bobby steps forward, along with Cas’ mother to offer their blessings. Bobby claps them both on the shoulder, and Cas’ mom kisses them both on the cheek. 

     The rest of the wedding passes without a hitch, and before Dean knows it, he is holding Cas close, their foreheads pressed together as they sway to the beat of their first dance. Cas is smiling, eyes closed as he listens to the words.

     “I can’t believe you picked this song,” Cas says softly, his fingernails scraping dully at the base of Dean’s skull. Dean’s arm is wound low around Cas’ waist, keeping them together, even as they turn and sway. Dean snorts and begins to sing along. 

     “ _And I’m getting closer than I ever thought I might._ ” Cas grins, presses his lips to Dean’s, misses the tag line, and laughs as Dean picks up the next one in his low tenor. “ _I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for._ ”

      “It’s time to bring this ship in to the shore and throw away the oars, forever,” Cas sings, and Dean throws his head back in laughter. 

     “’Cause I can’t fight this feeling anymore,” Dean finishes, and Cas grins. 

     “I love you so much, Dean,” he murmurs, and Dean’s playful smile fades for one sincerer, one more genuine and vulnerable. 

     “I love you too, Cas,” he says, and leans forward to press his lips against Cas’. He sees flashes of cameras going off around them, and he’s sure they are sporting the perfect wedding photo. They are bent in together from the knees to the chest, one of Dean’s arms slung low around Cas’ waist, the other cupping his hand softly out to the side. Their heads are bowed together, Cas’ fingers still scrape against Dean’s skull, and they are kissing, long and slow and sweet, completely uncaring of the rest of the world. That is, until Emma comes running up, tugging on Dean’s pants leg.

     “Sammy says this is a daddy-daughter dance,” she says excitedly, and Dean sees that yes, while he was kissing Cas, their song ended, and the one he picked for himself and Emma began. He looks back to Cas, a sorry smile on his lips.

     “Do you mind if she cuts in?” he asks, and Cas releases his hand and steps away. 

     “Of course not.”

     “Can the next dance be a Cassie-daughter dance?” she asks, reaching a hand out to pat Cas’ leg. Cas swallows back his happiness and nods. 

     “Of course, Emma,” he tells her, but for now, he stands back and watches as Dean pulls Emma up to him, sets her on the toes of his good shoes and begins to spin her around. Everyone watching is alight with the sound of her laughter as they twirl. Cas never knew he could love this much. 

     Cas, standing there on his wedding night watching the man he loves spin around the dance floor, his daughter on his toes, couldn’t know of the impending bad. He couldn’t know that his mother would die barely two weeks after him and Dean return from their honey moon. He couldn’t know that Dean’s father and step-mother would die in a car wreck never having accepted Cas as their son-in-law and never having made amends with Dean. Cas couldn’t know of the bad, but neither could he know of the good. 

     He couldn’t know that Emma would start calling him “Papa,” or that she would graduate from Berkley with honors. He couldn’t know that, even as they dance that night at their wedding, April Kelly starves, impoverished and malnourished after her flee from justice. He couldn’t know that Dean would eventually inherit the auto shop, or that he would eventually be honored with standing ovations and nominations and awards and roses thrown at his feet for the play he wrote. He couldn’t know that he and Dean would live long and happy lives, turning gray and grouchy and wrinkled and never once consider loving anyone else. 

     He couldn’t know any of this, not that night, but he knows, as he stands watching Dean twirl Emma around the dance floor, that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, no one else he’d rather love. 

     Cas gets his dance with Emma as Dean spins Ellen around on the dance floor; then Jo is pulling at Dean and Charlie is pulling at Cas and again they are separated. Eventually though, they land back together, just like they always do. 

     “Hi there, Mr. Winchester,” Dean says, eyes playful as he tugs Cas closer. 

     “Why hello, Mr. Winchester,” he greets, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Dean’s lips before falling in step with the music. They spin in silence, swallowing it down and reveling in the fact that they are married, inseparable…finally happy. 

      “I never thought we’d make it here, Cas,” Dean murmurs eventually, his nose brushing into Cas’ hair. Cas moves closer to Dean, pressing his head close to Dean’s heart.

     “We’re here now,” he murmurs, and Dean smiles. 

     “Yeah, Cas, we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn right REO.
> 
> Anyway, this is the end you guys...
> 
> If you're curious about the side fic from Sam's point of view, what I would tell you is that I have about 500 words written of it....so it's gonna be a while.... I have no idea when.... I know I suck, I'm sorry. 
> 
> Anyway, time for thanks and stuff! Really, the main people I'd like to thank are you guys. You kept me going, and I can assure you that this fic would not have been finished if it hadn't been for the unending stream of love and support, even if it was in the form of comments telling me how much you hate me;) But in all honesty, I want to thank you endlessly, really and truly, from the bottom of my heart<3 So thank you. This has been a wild ride for all of us, and I hate to see it end, but I mean, at least Dean and Cas are happy now! 
> 
> I guess that's it. Once again, thank you, and keep being awesome<3


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